In the Loop
by freerangeegghead
Summary: In which Santana's daughter makes a wish for her and Santana finds herself trapped in a loop.A story that explores life, love, loss and finding the courage to live again. Part I of Loop/Space/Learning/Opus (LSLO) Series.Warning: Character death,suicide. Fantasy/sci-fi, romance, angst. Brittana,Pezberry. Complete. A/N: All stories in this verse-slightly A/U,references to canon
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I'm a big Brittana fan, but came across a Pezberry apocalypse fan fic and could not get this story out of my head. Character death, suicide, but hopefully you will still continue reading it. I'm interested to see if people like this story enough for me to continue writing it. This is my first fan fic so please review (but please be gentle!). The plot was borrowed from a popular film back in the day (points for you if you can guess what it is!). Apologies for errors as I have yet to get a beta.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Santana Lopez wakes up to another ordinary day in Lima, Ohio.

For a minute, after she opens her eyes, she feels a little disoriented, like she does not know where she is. She reaches for the alarm on the bedside table, playing the first strains of "All I Want for Christmas is You" on a local Ohio FM Radio Station as the radio dj barks a cheery "Good morning Lima, it's December 17, only eight days before Christmas and it's another cold, cold morning in Lima, Ohio, with temperatures at 40degrees Fahrenheit…" She blinks her eyes once, twice, taking in the unfamiliar, yet so familiar surroundings, wondering where the hell she is – the dark walls, the Bob Marley above her head, the curtains, the dresser, outside, where a blanket of snow has settled peacefully on the landscape. She turns her head to the right and the small, dark blonde head who has been sharing this bed with her since they got home from the airport is gone. Figures, she thinks to herself. Her daughter is an early riser. She always needs to keep moving, like there is a song or a dance inside her that needs to come out. She is probably downstairs with the family already, or outside, playing in the snow. Santana sighs. Another day, same routine. Might as well get up, go through the motions, like she always does.

As if on cue, Suzie comes bounding in, screaming, "Mom! You're up!" before making a running jump to the bed, landing straight into Santana's lap. Santana makes an agonized, "Ooomph," as she catches her daughter in her arms.

"Ow!" she complains.

Suzie giggles, "Morning, mom!" She stops, leans back and says, "_Buenos dias!_"

Santana laughs and pulls back to look at her daughter. "_Que pasa, mami?_"

"We're learning Spanish now are we?" Santana murmurs into Suzie's dark honey blonde wavy hair.

Suzie squirms. "Yes. Abuela says I need to start young, so I don't sound like you, she says. She says you speak Spanish like a _gringo_."

Santana laughs, hugging her. She pulls back and looks at her Suzie, through bleary eyes, until her eyes focus and she can look, really look, at her daughter. Suzie beams proudly and tells her how she has been up since four or five, waiting for the sun to come up and how, looking outside the window, she saw a shooting star instead and made a wish. Santana smiles at how excited Suzie is. It is at these times, when Suzie's eyes are shining, long fingers fluttering up and down, gracefully moving from the bed and pirouetting around the room, that Santana is reminded how much of Brittany Suzie has. At seven going on eight, Suzie already has a passion for dance, although unlike Brittany, Suzie prefers classical dance. She executes an arabesque a little awkwardly in the crowded room filled with their suitcases and Suzie's assorted toys as she tells her mother to come down and have breakfast.

"What did you wish for?" Santana asks, curious.

"That's a secret," Suzie says. "I can't tell you that. It might jinx it. Anyway, c'mon, mom, abuela says to get your ass downstairs, it's almost noon," Suzie says. "There's burritos and tortillas."

Santana gritted her teeth. Does anyone not know the concept of watching their language in front of a child? Brittany would be appalled. "Language, honey," Santana says.

Suzie shrugs. "I told abuela that, she says it's fine, as long as I don't use the f-word or the p-word."

Santana sighs.

"What's the p-word?" Suzie asks, wondering.

"A word you don't need to know or even use until you're at least 30 or _ever_," Santana answers by way of reply, getting Suzie off her lap so she can get up.

Her bare feet land on the floor and she winces from the cold. She stretches, yawns, hears some bones in her back and arms snap, before she leans over and grabs the bathrobe draped over one of the chairs near the dresser. It is an old blue bathrobe, Brittany's in fact. She feels it fit snugly around her as she ties it around her waist.

"C'mon kiddo," she says to the child, who barely hears her as the child bounds out of the room again, and Santana hears her thudding down the stairs.

She hears a crash and a belated, "Ow!" followed by some commotion. She rushes out to see her daughter sprawled on the bottom of the stairs.

"Suzie!" she says. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, mom," Suzie calls back, a bit sheepishly, as Mrs. Lopez helps her up, admonishing her for sliding down the bannisters yet again.

"Sorry, abuela," Suzie says.

Santana runs a hand through her hair, takes a deep breath and walks down the stairs.

"Ey! It's the hotshot lawyer!" somebody says from the table, as the rest of the Lopez clan look up and grin towards Santana.

A chorus of "_Buenos dias!_" "Nice of you to join us!" "Morning!" "_Como esta?_" "_Que pasa?_" from different directions greet her and Santana grins, putting her hand up in greeting.

"Ey, what you doing down there in California that you don't have time to visit your family, eh?" her uncle, Roberto, says, from mouthfuls of bread.

"Been busy," she says, by way of reply.

Uncle Roberto shrugs, as another voice says, "Yeah, hotshot lawyer shooting down all those big bad corporations. You're pretty big now, eh, little sis? No time for us small town folks?"

"Shut up," she says to the direction of the voice, Carlos, her older brother, as he chuckles in reply.

"More importantly, _mija_," Carlos continues, struggling not to laugh, "How's the sex life? Probably not getting any, are we?"

"Shut _up_," Santana warns, coming over and hitting her brother's shoulder over the loud laughter. "Need I remind you how grossly inappropriate that is at a family breakfast." They continue to laugh, ignoring her. Her love life, or lack of it thereof, has always been a source of entertainment at home.

"Hey, leave your sister alone," her mother says, coming towards her and hugging her before handing her the steaming cup of coffee. "Morning, _mija_," she says, kissing her daughter on the cheek. "Sleep well? You're friend Puck called, it's about that Glee Club reunion, over at Mr. Schuester's house. Wanted to know if you're going."

Before she gets her hands on the coffee and answer her mother, a shout, giggles, the pounding of footsteps, a blur of bodies run between her mother and her, and her mother makes a surprised sound, while Santana drops the coffee in surprise. The sound of breaking glass hitting the floor echoes. Santana vaguely remembers a foot stepping on her own bare feet. At the same time, Santana yelps as the scalding water hits her.

"Carlitos!" Carlos shouts, a warning tone in his voice.

"Ay, _dios mio!_ Carlito! Suzie! What did I tell you about running around the house?" Mrs. Lopez scolds the two, who have gone back to the living room.

"He started it!" Suzie shouts back.

"Did not!" Carlito shouts back.

"Well, stop running around the house!" Mrs. Lopez says.

"Sorry, abuela!" the two say at the same time.

"Are you alright, _mija_?" Mrs. Lopez says as she grabs a towel and wipes the puddle of coffee on the floor.

"I'm fine," Santana says, moving towards the kitchen sink and running her hand under the cold water. It stings a bit, but she is fine. She feels a small, sharp pain on one of her toes and realizes one of her toes has not been so lucky. She limps to one of the medicine cabinets, pulls out a band-aid and wraps one on her big toes. She is now annoyed.

"There's more coffee in the pot," Mrs. Lopez says as she stands up, drops the towel on the sink and heads to the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk.

She sniffs it and says, "This milk smells bad. Carlos, I told you not to drink from the carton!"

Carlos murmurs an apology.

"I'll go to the store and get a new one," Santana says.

"You sure?" Mrs. Lopez says.

"Yeah," Santana says. "You need anything else?"

"Nope," Mrs. Lopez says.

Santana nods and moves off to the living room.

"I'm going to pop to the store to buy some milk," Santana says in the general direction of Suzie, who is busy watching the Nickelodeon cartoons. "You okay to stay here? Or do you wanna come with?"

Suzie looks at her and shakes her head, but then says, "I wanna come."

"Okay," Santana says. "Go grab my bag upstairs."

Suzie nods and jumps off the couch, heading towards their room upstairs. A few minutes later, she is back with Santana's handbag. Santana takes her bag, thanks Suzie , instructs her to grab her coat, and turns to rummaging through it for her car keys, cannot find it and decides to take Carlos' car instead.

"Hey, Carlos, I can't find my keys. Can I take your car?"

"Yep. Car keys're where they usually are," Carlos calls back from the kitchen.

Santana grabs the keys off the table near the front door, grabs her coat and throws it over her bathrobe. She slips her feet into her boots and with Suzie in tow, they step out into the cold, Ohio winter.

* * *

Halfway through the grocery store, Carlos' car's engine dies. Santana curses. _Of course_, she says, Carlos' car is so old it dies in the middle of the road. She wonders why Carlos just doesn't get a new one. She quickly calls Carlos and informs her of this.

"Carlos, your car just _died_ on us," Santana says, irritated. "I'm on my way to the hardware store now to buy an ax to smash your car with repeatedly, if that's okay with you."

"Oh," Carlos says. "Sorry," he says, sheepishly. "Been meaning to have her fixed. Never got around to it. Have you tried to - "

"Yes, yes, I've tried all that," Santana says, impatiently. "I mean it! I'm going to pour gas on your stupid car and set fire to it, I swear."

"What? Don't do that," Carlos says. "I'm serious. Don't do it. Knowing you…I wouldn't put it past you to do something like that. If you do, I'm telling mom!"

"What are you, twelve?" Santana says, rolling her eyes. "The grocery's not that far. We're just gonna go there the rest of the way. I'm gonna leave your piece of junk of a car here,I doubt anybody's gonna take an interest in it. Except maybe for scraps of metal."

"Hey! That's low. Santana, apologize to my car. You've hurt her feelings. Cars are people, too, you know," Carlos says.

"Whatever," Santana says, rolling her eyes. "It's still junk."

"Fine. I'm gonna call Burt and have him tow it to his place."

"Okay," Santana says, cursing her brother again for making them walk in this weather, wincing as she tries to walk on the foot that was hurt by the broken glass.

* * *

Santana had originally gone to the store to just get some milk, but she ends up buying other stuff for her, Suzie and some food for the house as well. Her hands and toe hurt like hell, as she yawns, pushing the cart down the aisles.

They would have left ages ago, had Rachel Berry, of all people, not spotted her at the fresh fruit and veg aisle. Of course, this would be the only aisle where one would spot Rachel Berry.

"Santana?" that unmistakable, melodious voice says, from behind, a little uncertainly, as Santana stares at apples and oranges, deciding which one to buy. "Santana Lopez?"

Santana turns around at the sound of her name on another person's lips. She narrows her eyes and under the harsh glare of the grocery's stores overhead lights, it takes her only a second to recognize that it is Rachel Berry, high school ingénue, insufferable diva, bane of Santana's high school existence.

"I thought that was you," Rachel says, still a bit uncertainly, and now a bit awkwardly, as she takes a step forward. "Never thought I'd see you in the fruit and veg section."

Rachel still looks like Rachel in high school, except older, hair longer, all the right curves filling all over her body (she stops herself, wondering why such an errant thought would cross her mind. She shudders), but with still the same enthusiasm and energy.

"Rachel Berry," Santana says, sighing. "Nice to know you don't dress like one of the bait girls in 'To Catch a Predator' anymore," she says.

"Nice to know you still have a mouth on you," Rachel shoots back.

"Heard you snagged that dream role you've always wanted – playing the lead in the Broadway musical version of 'Willow'. How's that working out for you?" Santana gamely retorts.

Rachel frowns. " 'Lord of the Rings the Musical'," she corrects. "Not that you'd know it," she continues. "And I'll have you know I'm playing Galadriel."

"Galadriel?" Santana asks. "Isn't she, like, tall or something?"

"I'm surprised you even know who that is."

An awkward silence ensues, as they try to think of something to say to each other, as for the nth time, Santana curses at how small Lima is. Running into yet another former high school classmate, bar Puck and Quinn, was not something she wanted to be doing for the rest of her brief stay in Lima freaking Ohio. She curses herself for not having had the common sense to have stayed in the frozen meats section, where, of course, Rachel Berry would never venture into, being vegan and all.

"Anyway, fancy seeing you here," Rachel finally says, offering an uncertain smile.

"Huh? What?"

"This," Rachel gestures to the fruit and veg section. "Aren't you a processed meat and junk food kind of person?"

Santana shrugs. "Things change."

"So they do," Rachel admits. "Anyway, are you going later?"

"Where?" Santana asks.

"Mr. Schue's place, this afternoon," Rachel says, matter-of-factly. "Glee Club reunion. We're all very excited about it. It's been ages since we all saw each other."

Oblivious to how awkward Santana looks, Rachel excitedly tells her about the reunion. Her voice is still loud and high, and at its best moments, a little shrill, just like Santana remembers it in high school and as she talks , Santana can't help but think about high school again, as Rachel prattles on about how Mr. Schue contacted her, asking her to help him with his fundraising project ("You know how he gets invested in these things," Rachel says.), which ended up being an instant organizing for a Glee Club reunion as well, how she took some time off from her busy Broadway schedule to take on the challenges of organizing a Glee Club reunion, creating a very impressive Excel spreadsheet just for the occasion, hunting down names, and addresses, how she could swear she's sent Santana an invitation by post and by email to her last known address and wondered why she did not receive it (Santana did, she just didn't want to come) about how Finn is married to some teacher from Lima, and is now the football coach at McKinley High, how Blaine and Kurt eventually broke up, but are still friends, how Mercedes has made a name for herself as a singer, nothing huge like Whitney, but still selling records, how Tina has made a name for herself as a songwriter and how Mike is now a professional dancer in California. She has prepared a PowerPoint presentation just for the occasion, to catch everyone up on what everyone else is doing. And Mr. Schue and Coach Sue have teamed up for a musical called, "Once on this Island" for the homeless and the orphans, which stars Rachel Berry (of course) and would Santana want to join? She's pretty sure it's a bit late for her to get any major roles, so late into the production, since the show will be early tonight, before the reunion, but they could always use some more help, in costumes, or in the chorus, or something, it's not like they haven't pulled off musical production numbers with no practice or music and lyrics at all in the past…

"You should come to the reunion, Santana," Rachel finally says, breaking off from her monologue. "I could swear I sent you an invitation, but I don't know if you ever got it…"

"I did," Santana says. "Get it. I'm just not interested in going."

"Oh," Rachel says, at a loss for words. Rachel Berry, at a loss for words. Santana thought she'd never see the day.

Rachel and Santana continue to stand there, not knowing what else to say. "Well, anyway, if you change your mind…I mean…Everyone's going to be there. Well, not everyone…"

Rachel stops….awkward, unsure. Surprisingly, Rachel, for all her self-absorbed, self-involved, self-centered ways, knows better than to say more than is enough. It's been three years, going on almost four, but there are still some things that should never be mentioned. Santana suddenly feels awkward. She does not need this. She can see that unmistakable look on Rachel's face. It's a look she has seen one too many times from everyone around her.

For some strange reason, Santana suddenly feels a tiny glimmer of anger growing beneath the pit of her stomach, a glimmer of anger that is dangerously close to being directed at Rachel.

Rachel pretends not to notice, but she knows enough that that look on Santana's face, when her eyes narrow, when she crosses her arms in front of her, signifies that any minute now, Rachel will feel the full extent of Santana's wrath. She does not understand why Santana's mood would change so suddenly, but just in case, she takes a step back in case Santana lunges for her.

Nothing happens though.

For at that moment, Suzie of course chooses to skip down the aisles, pack of Sour Patch in one hand and a box of Lucky Charms on the other, waving them at Santana, "Mom! I found 'em!"

Santana's expression switches from irritation to one of adoration, as she bends over and nods, ruffling her daughter's dark blonde hair before indicating that the items be dropped in the cart.

"Mom?" Rachel says blankly.

Santana looks at her, daring her to challenge what Suzie has just said.

"What?" Santana finally asks.

"It's just…"Rachel says carefully. "I never figured you to be…you know…"

"What?" Santana says, her voice more threatening. Years of practice as Sue Sylvester's Cheerio, head bitch of McKinley and now lawyer has taught her the fine art of intimidation and she uses it now with the full brunt of her years of experience.

Rachel seems to cower before her glower before she finally says, "A mom."

Suzie chooses this time to look up at Rachel and asks, if a bit pointedly, "Who are _you_?"

Santana smirks a little. Rachel looks at Suzie in surprise, wonder and amazement. Rachel must see what Santana sees every day in Suzie: Brittany's face, and sweetness, covered in Santana's attitude. Suzie has dark, wavy, blonde hair, almost brown from years of playing under the California sun, skin that is neither too pale nor too dark, eyes that look like Santana's when she is irritated or being moody, eyes that can look like Brittany's, all soft and loving, when she is happy and content. She is the best of Brittany and Santana, and looking at her now, Santana can't help but feel again a surge of love and pride for their daughter.

"Honey, be nice," Santana says, although she is loving how uncomfortable Rachel looks now.

Rachel smiles her sweetest, and says, "Hi, I'm Rachel. I used to go to high school with your mom."

Suzie looks back at Rachel from head to toe, then looks to Santana, as if she cannot believe they actually did go to school together, waiting for Santana to confirm this fact.

Santana nods. "Yes, we went to school together, honey."

Suzie looks at her mother. "Eeeeww…Mom, you used to be, like, _young_ and _everything? _But you're so_ old…_"

Santana rolls her eyes. "You are one word away from being grounded," Santana warns. Rachel grins.

Suzie grins back, knowing these threats are empty and pointless at best, nods, drops Santana's hand, offers her hand to Rachel and says, "Hi, I'm Suzie. Nice to meet you Rachel!" in a sing-song voice.

In spite of herself, Rachel is charmed. "Nice to meet you, too, Suzie," she says, taking the tiny hand offered to her and shaking it.

Suzie cocks her head to the side and says, "You're pretty. And hot. Just like mom."

Rachel blushes. Santana smirks. Suzie is charming. As Suzie looks at her, with that expression on her face that Santana knows is the look she has when sizing up an adult, Suzie cocks her head to the side, looks up at Rachel thoughtfully, and says, "I bet you could date mom. She's single. Are you single? She hasn't been on a date in ages."

Rachel's blush grows even deeper. Santana's smirk disappears, as she feels a slow blush begin to crawl above her neck.

Santana tries to say, "Honey, Rachel's not…" but Suzie does not seem to hear her.

"She's always busy. All she ever does is stand around yelling at people all day. It's kinda cool. She gets paid to yell at people all day long. It's like the coolest job ever. She yells at me for free. But she's really nice, my mom. Everyone thinks she's not a nice person, 'cause she's a lawyer and everything but she's really not," Suzie continues, oblivious to how awkward the two women have become. "And she can cook now. Things she used to cook used to end up in flames before. And for the longest time all she could cook were eggs. I don't like eggs. Do you like eggs? I like tortillas. You can come have dinner with us. She cooks a mean _paella_. We could play charades. Or something. Can you do Rock Band? Mom and I are awesome at that. And I swear she's phenomonemal…phemonemonal…phemo… she's super nice."

Santana clears her throat.

But Suzie continues, "But you're so… tiny…" her eyes blink as she searches for another word, decides on it, and says, "Short…like a…" and she searches for the word again before she blurts out, "A hobbit!"

The look on Rachel's face is priceless. Santana tries hard not to laugh, but she can feel her body spasm as she tries to hold in the laughter trying to bubble up from her stomach.

Suzie takes her hand back, smiles and drifts away, all interest in Santana and Rachel gone in favor of something bright and shiny she has spotted down the aisle. Rachel is clearly offended. A silence ensues.

"Well," Rachel says, at a loss or words. "That is _definitely_ your daughter."

"You bet your ass she is!" Santana chuckles, inspite of herself. "I'm sorry," she quickly says, tries to apologize, but she cannot hide the mischievous mirth dancing in her eyes. "I swear I don't know where she got that…I mean…that was all her…I'm sorry, "she ends lamely, at a loss for words.

Rachel glares at her. "I'm sure." There is another awkward silence before Rachel signs and says, "I have to…go…but it was nice seeing you again."

Santana nods, "Yes, me too."

"So, I'll see you at the reunion?" Rachel asks, hopefully.

Santana shrugs. "Maybe," she says. Rachel nods. "But don't count on it."

* * *

Long after Rachel waves goodbye and heads down another aisle for vegan patties or some other gross kind of vegan food, Santana finds herself thinking about McKinley High School, McKinley Glee Club, and the beautiful Cheerios cheerleader she fell in love with in high school.

Santana remembers now why it has taken her precisely this long to come home.

She hates Lima, Ohio.

She hates Christmas in Lima, Ohio. She hates Christmas in Lima, Ohio during the _winter_. She hates _Noche Buena_, gift giving, shopping, Christmas carols, even the "_Feliz Navidad!_" that family and relatives say to each other as they wait for 12 midnight on Christmas Eve. She hates how she can never seem to stay warm. Most of all, she hates how this is yet another Christmas without Brittany.

For the one thing she knows is that Lima, Ohio is a repository for all those memories she has buried, of an imagined life with Brittany, a life she can no longer have now. They left California for the holidays to escape these memories. Santana forgets that there are too many memories in Lima, too.

The thought of Brittany gives her heart a twinge of pain. She swallows, tries to calm herself.

Santana stands by her car, looking in front of her at the sight of the McKinley High School building, stamping her boots against the cold, and drawing her coat tighter against her body. The landscape is covered in a thick blanket of blinding snow, making Santana squint in the late morning sun. It is freezing cold. No sun in the sky.

She does not know why she finds herself here, but after her conversation with Berry, after she brings her child home, she finds herself drawn to this place. Nostalgia maybe. Maybe she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

Maybe she just wanted to get away from it all and here, in the empty halls of McKinley, she can be alone.

She finds her feet taking her inside the building. She is surprised that the building is open, although knowing what she did about how the school was run in a twisted sort of way by Figgins and Sylvester, she is not at all surprised.

The halls are dark and empty and the sound of her boots pounding against the well-polished floors echo across the halls. It feels strange, but she can almost see the years melt away, as she walks down the halls, recognizing the lockers where she and Brittany seemed to spend most of their time together, the Spanish classroom, Home Ec, Sue Sylvester' office, Figgins' office…She grimaces as she recognizes Principal Figgins' office (oh god, is he _still_ the principal? Is he, in fact, still _alive_?). Her question is answered when she hears the unmistakable heavily accented voice that can only come from Mr. Figgins.

"Ms. Santana Lopez," the voice comes from behind. "Our resident teen lesbian. Welcome back. To what do we owe this visit?"

She turns around as Mr. Figgins approaches her. He has not changed. He is still wearing the same gray, tweed jackets, the same pants, smells the same way, like breath mints and moth balls, smells _older_, somehow, and the white hair on his head, tinged with gray, confirms it. She also realizes how she's forgotten how grossly inappropriate he can be.

He smiles in that condescending way he does, and adds, "Or is it some Mrs…something something or other?"

She smiles, tightly. "Lopez is fine."

"Right. Welcome back to McKinley. The school is closed on Saturdays, though I'm sure you already know that. But Mr. Schuester's Glee Club kids are practicing for some fundraising or other, if you are here to visit them," he says, pointing down the hall, "The toilets there are not working. Again. Some students found it amusing to flush dynamite down the toilet bowls and we have been having…err…problems with the plumbing. Best not to do number two if you can't help it."

Santana grimaces, disgusted.

Mr. Figgins is oblivious though, launching into the merits of the various cleaning supplies the school uses for cleaning. "But I find cleaning bodily fluids off of school property still remains a particular challenge…."

Santana grimaces again, stands there awkwardly, wishing she could just run back to her car, but Mr. Figgins mercifully ends his monologue, muttering about finishing paperwork for the day, by saying, "Well, I'm calling it a day and going off to the missus. Keep her happy and so forth. I hope you have a great time, Ms. Lopez. Don't be a stranger!"

Santana exhales a sigh of relief. She has also forgotten how creepy Principal Figgins can be. Has he always been that skeevy? She does not remember. Then she recalls that one time he calls her and Brittany to his office, where he started by scolding them for their public display of affection and ended up by saying he actually likes to see them kissing. Santana is glad he has left. She suddenly feels weird all over again. She continues down the hallway. A rectangle of light from the aforementioned Glee Club room illuminates that part of the hallway as someone opens the door, and the sound of students vocalizing can be heard and suddenly Santana is taken back to high school again.

She is tempted to peek into the room, but decides that seeing Mr. Schue, and Mr. Schue's vest, might be too much for one day, right after seeing Principal Figgins again, so she makes a left turn instead, down the hallway, and finds herself out in the track and field area, where she has spent countless afternoons practicing with Brittany and the Cheerios. A wave of something akin to nostalgia, tinged with a dull ache in her chest, threatens to overwhelm, and she draws a deep breath in, lowers her head and makes her way to one of the bleachers.

She sits there and lets the rest of the memories come flooding back.

"_You can't just, like, throw away your future on a whim, Santana," Brittany says, looking up at her from her vantage point two steps down the bleachers._

"_Britt, I'm a star. I'm just as talented as Wheezy, Boy Chang, Lady Hummel, Berry. I should be in New York, pursuing my dreams, not in freaking Kentucky," Santana says, stubbornly. _

_Brittany knits her brows, searching for the right words. "But honey, you're getting a free ride to Kentucky."_

_Santana rolls her eyes. "I know that," she says, "But don't you just feel like...we're destined for something else? Something bigger? And we need to grab this chance now before it's lost forever?"_

_Santana waits as Brittany thinks about it. After a pregnant pause, Brittany says, "No."_

_Santana sighs, exasperated. "Honey, I've gotta go do this. I feel like if I don't, I'll regret it forever. Carpe diem, and all that."_

"_Carpe diem?" Brittany asks scrunching up her nose. "You know I don't like Spanish."_

"_That's not Spanish, Britt. It's Latin."_

"_Oh, yeah! Ms. Holiday taught us that that one time, right? That's seize the carp…or something."_

"_Day, Britt," Santana corrects her._

"_Day the carp?" Britt asks, blinking. "That doesn't make sense."_

"_Seize the day, Britt," Santana says, patiently. "Seize the day."_

_Brittany looks confused now. "That doesn't make sense, either, San," Brittany says. "How do you seize the day? Isn't that like, impossible, or something?"_

_Santana sighs and throws up her hands. "I don't know, Britt. It's just how the saying goes." _

"_Okay," Brittany says, standing up and making her way up to where Santana is sitting down. She plops down next to Santana, hugs her and kisses her. _

_Santana kisses her back, smiling into Brittany's kiss. _

"_Wohoo! Teen lesbians, yeah!" they hear someone shout from the bottom of the bleachers and they look to see who it is. It is Rick The Stick and his minions. _

"_Fuck you, Rick!" Santana shouts back, feeling Brittany's automatically hands snake through her waist, gently pulling Santana back before she could go down and beat Rick up. "Shut up or I'll go all Lima Heights on your ass!"_

_Rick stops, debates the merits of getting into a fist fight with Santana right after getting suspended for that fight with Puck and backs away. _

"_That's right, walk way, asshole, walk away!" Santana shouts, satisfied with herself. _

_Santana turns back to Brittany. Brittany kisses her, relieved Santana has not gotten into yet another fist fight. _

"_How about this," Brittany says, pulling back from the kiss. "You give Kentucky a shot, see how it goes, and if it doesn't work out, you can go to New York."_

_Santana groans, not breaking the kiss. "Britt…" she whines._

"_C'mon, San," Brittany says, pulling back from the kiss, and looking deep into her eyes. "Like your mom said, New York will still be there when you come back."_

_Santana sighs. "Alright. Alright, I'll do it."_

_Brittany grins. "Awesome."_

_Before kissing Brittany again, Santana asks, "And what, pray tell, will I major in when I go to Kentucky?"_

_Brittany shrugs. "Law."_

"_Law?"_

"_Law," Brittany says again, like it's the most natural thing in the world. _

_Santana looks at her, suspicious. "Did Mr. Schue talk you into this?" Santana demands. _

_Brittany looks back, hurt. "No," she says simply. _

_Santana breaks away and folds her arms in front of her, narrowing her eyes as she continues to look at Brittany. _

"_Honey, nobody did, I swear," Brittany says. "It's just…San, I'd think you'd be perfect as a lawyer."_

"_Perfect?" Santana says, still not convinced._

"_I mean people think you're a bad person and everything…But you're really not," Brittany quickly adds. "You're sweet and protective and bad ass. Just like right now. You've never let anyone hurt me. And you're wicked smart. Smarter than me. You're also quick to defend people when you think they're being bullied and I think you'd be awesome as a lawyer," Brittany ends. _

"_Right," Santana says._

"_And also dolphins."_

"_Dolphins? What about dolphins?"_

"_I read dolphins are endangered, and maybe you could help with that," Brittany finishes. "You know how I love dolphins. They're gay sharks, you know."_

"_I know," Santana says. _

"_And also trees," Brittany says. "I heard that a lot of trees are dying so we could have toilet paper and pencils and toothpicks and stuff. Maybe you could help with that, too."_

"_What?"_

"_The trees. In the Amazon. I saw it on National Geographic," Brittany says, matter of factly."They need people like you. I mean the trees, not National Geographic. Like those Ents, in the Lord of the Rings."_

"_Trees? Ents?" Santana asks, finding this particular Brittany random tangent harder to follow than usual. _

"_Hey, San," Brittany suddenly says, "If a tree falls in the middle of the forest, and nobody is around to hear it…did it ever exist?"_

"_What?" Santana looks at her. "I don't know. I think I'm gonna have a headache."_

"_Huh," Brittany says, still wondering. "And anyway, you'll look hot in a power suit," she says, as an afterthought. "Like a power lesbian or something."_

_Santana looks at her, shakes her head, throws up her hands and says, "You're incorrigible, you know that?"_

"_I don't know what that means," Brittany says, smiling. "Anyway, I'll support you whatever decision you make…But just…think about it, okay? Just marinade on it."_

_Santana laughs, leans over and kisses her._

Santana is interrupted from her reverie by her iPhone ringing, playing the first strains of The Script's "Breakeven" and she sighs and answers it.

"Hi, mom!" the voice on the other end of the line cheerfully greets her when she cautiously says "Hello?" to the phone. "Where are you? You okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm just… outside," Santana says, uncertainly, and her daughter listens.

"Where?" Suzie asks, persistent. "You're beginning to weird me out."

"Just…out, okay?" Santana says. "Don't worry, I'm fine, okay? I'll be home soon."

"Just making sure you're okay." Santana shakes her head. There are moments, like right now, when Suzie can be eerily prescient, checking on her mother, making sure she is okay, that freaks Santana out but at the same time, endears this child even more to her heart.

"Okay, honey," Santana says softly, as she hears someone, Carlitos, calling her from the background, "Suzie, _c'mon! _Dad's killing us at Halo!"

"Okay!" Suzie calls back. Then she turns back to the phone, "Hey, mom."

"Yeah?" Santana asks.

"Don't…" Suzie begins, uncertain. "I mean…Don't go being weird or anything….just…"

"Suzie," Santana says softly. "I'm fine. I'll be home soon."

"Okay," Suzie says, still uncertain. But she can hear her daughter's face brighten up as she says, "I love you, mom."

Santana smiles. "Love you, too, kiddo."

"Okay. Don't stay out too late! Later!"

And with a click, her daughter is gone.

Santana looks at the phone absently. Goddammit, she curses to herself again. Why does Suzie have to be so much like Brittany?

Santana stops. Every time she thinks about Brittany, she feels a dull ache in her chest, a pain… an emptiness, an endless void. It's been three years since she and Suzie lost Brittany, but it's hard for Santana. It hasn't gotten better. It never is better.

"_Why don't you like it?" Brittany asks her. _

_Santana sighs. They are sitting by the bleachers, taking a ten-minute break from Coach Sue Sylvester's new, punishing routine that will supposedly guarantee them the top spot at Nationals. "Because," Santana thinks of a reason that wouldn't make Brittany feel bad and coming up with nothing. Brittany waits, popping a Gummi Bear in her mouth. _

"_Drake is a nice name," Brittany insists, taking a swig from her water bottle. "It's really cool."_

"_It's also the name of a duck," Santana points out, accepting the water bottle Brittany offers and taking a drink from it._

"_That's the best part."_

"_Yes, but…"Santana says, trying to think of a better way to explain this without being given the silent treatment for a week, "do we want our kid to fit in at school or be slushied every time someone calls him that name?"_

_Brittany looks at her, puzzled look on her face. "I still don't get it."_

"_And anyway, what if it's a girl?" Santana points out. _

_Brittany brightens. "That's easy," she says, flicking her hair. "We could name her after ourselves."_

_Santana is confused. "What?" she asks. _

"_You know, your name, my name, in her name, something like that, " Brittany says. "Or!" she says, her smile brightening even more, "We could just combine our names!" She screws up her face in concentration, and says, "Something like…Britta? Santanny? Brianna? I don't know."_

_Santana groans. "Britta? Santanny? Brianna?" _

_Brittany nods. "And then we could combine our last names, too! Like - "_

_And here, Santana inwardly groans, because she can just tell it was going to be something hideous like -_

" _Pierz? Pierpez? Lopierz? PiLo? Plierze?"_

_Santana looks at Brittany like she's grown a third head, brows knitted together, expression half a grimace, half disbelief. "Baby…no…"_

"_What?" Brittany asks. She pops another Gummi Bear into her mouth, leans over and hugs Santana. "I want our child to reflect both of us," she says, beaming. _

"_It…he or she…already does," Santana points, referring to the fact that they'd agreed she'd give her eggs and Brittany would carry the baby, a hint of a smile at the side of her lips. _

_Brittany laughs. "Still. I think it would be awesome for our kid to have both of our names in his or her name, don't you think?"_

"_Honey, I don't get why we have to come up with names _now_, anyway. Aren't we, like, supposed to enjoy our 20s, first? Before we settle down and have kids and stuff?" Santana asks._

"_Yeah, but I want to start a family with you. And it's just nice to start thinking about these things right now," Brittany says. "I think it would be awesome. It kind of, like, really makes it official…that we want to spend the rest of our lives together. And we'll raise our child together. And I can teach 'em how to be popular and stuff and you can teach 'em how to be a bad ass. It's like, the best deal ever!"_

_Santana looks at her, a smile slowly spreading on her lips. The simplicity with which Brittany says these things makes her love her more. "Still not naming our child any of those things you just suggested."_

_Brittany sighs, knowing Santana is not going to give in. "I find naming babies…hard. It's confusing."_

_Santana laughs. She thinks for a minute and says, "How about this? We get your middle name and my middle name and we combine it."_

_Brittany looks at her blankly. _

_Santana looks at her in exasperation, rolls her eyes._

"_Susan," Santana reminds her. "Susan. That's your middle name, isn't it? Let's call her, Susanna, or something so it sounds like Santana and Susan at the same time, and we get my middle name or something, so our child would be, like, Susanna Marie."_

"_Susanna Marie," Brittany says. She thinks about it for a minute. "I like it. Susanna Marie…"_

"_Pierce Lopez?"_

"_Susanna Marie Pierce Lopez," Brittany says. "Suzie for short." She thinks a bit more. "Although I might forget all of that. So you'll have to be the one to put it in her birth certificate."_

_Santana laughs. "That's okay."_

"_Susanna Marie Pierce Lopez," Brittany says it again. "It's perfect."_

_Santana smiles. "No, you're perfect."_

"_I know."_

Santana drives slowly around town, finding that everything she sees reminds her of Brittany. She feels like that John Cusack in "Say Anything" when he drives around with a recorder on hand, revisiting the places where his character spends time with his girlfriend before she breaks up with him. Except Brittany did not break up with her. She chokes back a sob.

Right before her, she can see the Lima Bean, where she used to spend weekends with Brittany and their friends, when they were not at home, making out. She smiles at the thought. A few blocks past, she can see Breadstix, where she and Brittany regularly went to for the date night. Across the street stands the mall that houses the cinema, where she and Brittany used to go to after their Breadstix dinner. The shop a few yards down the road she recognizes as the place where she bought her prom dress from.

For some strange reason, she finds herself outside Mr. Schue's house. The house has been decorated with Christmas lights, a life-sized Santa with a sleigh and reindeer on the lawn, a Christmas tree by the door. She shakes her head. Leave it to Mr. Schue to overdo Christmas.

She can see figures inside the house. Her heart leaps at recognizing old faces, old friends, Puck, Quinn, Sam, Mercedes, Kurt, Blaine, Mike, Tina, even Finn and the head just above the window must be Artie. The voice she hears singing must surely be Berry.

She sighs and starts the engine of her car. She decides to stop by Scandals instead for a few drinks before she heads to an open field, where Brittany and she used to go, on those rare occasions when they didn't feel like going to school and ditched instead. She stares at the vast expanse of emptiness, now covered in snow, at the trees, and the bruised sky, and she wonders, for the nth time, why Brittany had to go and leave her. Leave her and Suzie. Leave her with Suzie.

_Baby, I can't do this,_ Santana says quietly. _I can't do this alone. I can't do this anymore. I miss you so much. _

She doesn't come home till late at night. Sleep mercifully claims her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note: Chapter 2 is up! I'd like to thank everyone for reviewing. Does wonders to a writer! Also, many thanks to my beta, DragonsWillFly for going over this. **_

* * *

Santana wakes up to yet another cold, ordinary day in Lima, Ohio. Except the song playing on the radio right before she turns it off is "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey, as the dj greets her a "Good morning Lima, it's December 17, only eight days before Christmas and it's another cold, cold morning in Lima, Ohio, with temperatures at 40 degrees Fahrenheit…" She shakes her head, blinks her eyes twice and focuses on her room. Still seeming the way it was before, she checks and sees that her daughter has already gotten up.

As if on cue, Suzie comes bounding in, screaming, "Mom! You're up!" before making a running jump to the bed, landing straight into Santana's lap. Santana makes an agonized, "Ooomph," as she catches her daughter in her arms.

"Ow!" she complains, for the second time.

Suzie giggles, "Morning, mom!" She stops, leans back and says, "_Buenos dias, mami! Que pasa?"_

Santana laughs, hugs Suzie, but she cannot shake the nagging feeling that something is off this morning.

"Abuela teaching you Spanish now, is she?" she murmurs, feeling a sense of déjà vu at what she just said.

Suzie squirms. "Yes. Abuela says I need to start young, so…"

"Yes, yes. So you don't speak Spanish like me. I speak Spanish like a gringo, apparently." Santana says, impatiently and absent-mindedly before she stops and realizes she knows exactly what Suzie is about to say.

Suzie seems to realize it to as she untangles herself from Santana's embrace and says, "How'd you know I was going to say that, mom? That's weird. But really cool. It's like you have ESPN or something."

Santana feels the beginning of something strange, something akin to a vague, nameless panic or fear, forming in the pit of her stomach.

"ESP, honey," she manages to say. "There's no 'N'."

"Hey mom, guess what I saw today," Suzie asks, already moving off to the next subject, jumping off the bed, eyes bright and shining and excited, as she pirouettes and does arabesques all around the room.

Santana ventures a wild guess. "A shooting star?"

Suzie stops dancing, glares at her mother, disappointed, puts her arm on her waist and says, "Well, that's no fun is it, if you keep guessing what I'm thinking?"

"Sorry," Santana says. "Well, did you wish for anything?" Santana asks, curious.

"That's a –"

"Secret, I know," Santana says again, "I might jinx it or whatever."

"Mooooom!" Suzie whines. "Stop finishing what I'm saying! It's really creeping me out!"

"Sorry, honey," she says.

"It's okay though. It's kinda cool," Suzie says, "Like you have a time machine or something and you went back in time and found out what I was gonna say in the future and you finish all my sentences for me. Cool. Mommy would have thought it was cool. Didn't she always want a time machine?"

Santana grows cold. She always called Brittany mommy, Santana was always mom. Suzie must have realized it, because she grows quiet, afraid Santana might get angry, but Santana only smiles and says, "Let me guess what breakfast is."

Suzie cocks her head. "What?"

"Five bucks says it's burritos and tortillas."

Suzie giggles. "But mom, you said gambling is bad. And I don't have any money."

Santana laughs. "That's okay, honey."

"Okay. Abuela says to – "

"Yes, get my aaaa….downstairs, yes," Santana says, pushing the comforter back, standing up and stretching. "And you're still not allowed to use those words."

"Okay," Suzie says, skipping to the door. "I'll see you downstairs."

"Don't slide down the…!" Santana warns but it is too late, she hears the loud thud as Suzie lands on her butt.

She grabs her bathrobe and rushes to the edge of the stairway, to see that Suzie is fine.

"Sorry," Suzie says to her grandmother.

"Suzie! Are you okay?" Santana asks.

"I'm okay, mom," Suzie calls back, a bit sheepishly.

Santana runs a shaking hand through her hair, takes a deep breath and walks down the stairs. There is something really wrong about this morning, and she cannot push the panic that is threatening to bubble up the surface.

A few minutes later, when the same greetings assail her, in English and Spanish, followed by her mom asking her if she is joining the Glee Club reunion because Puck called for the nth time again, the scalding hot water being thrown on her and a shard of glass wounding her toe, Santana _really_begins to panic, her hands shaking as she lets the cold water run through them and when her mother announces that the milk in the fridge has curdled, Santana volunteers to go to the grocery to buy a new one, because all she wants is to get out of there. Just to make sure, she asks her mom what date it is today, and her mom, giving her a funny look, tells her it's December 17.

Calm down, Lopez, she tells herself, get a grip Lopez. The rest of the morning can't be all the same.

Which it proves to be.

Suzie insists on coming, the car dies on them, she threatens to murder the car again with an ax, as she calls her brother, who tells her he will call Burt and have him pick it up. She curses her brother and the car as she limps to the store with Suzie, in the cold, muttering about how she will kick Carlos' ass when she gets back.

When she hears Rachel's voice down the aisles, Santana tells herself, no, it can't be, it's just coincidence, I can't have _fucking_ woken up today to find that it's still _yesterday._ It's not possible. It's stupid. All her years of law school training, her experience, logic, the laws of physics, everything tells her this is not possible. And of all the fucking things…to have to relive a day with Rachel freaking Berry in it…it's too much. It's a nightmare.

And yet perky, cheery Rachel is standing there, telling her "I thought that was you…Never thought I'd see you in the fruit and veg section," and starts rattling on about the Glee Club reunion, Santana thinks it's a joke, it's a joke that everyone is playing on her, the one time she comes back to Lima, and everyone decides to play a joke on her, and everyone is in on it.

And this is what she ends up asking Rachel. "Is this a joke?"

"Wha…?" Rachel asks, confused.

"Because if it is, it's not funny, and if I find out it was all your idea, I will go all Lima Heights on your ass."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel says uncertainly, one arm dramatically flying to her chest, as she takes a step back from Santana. Rachel can recognize a diva fit when she sees one. "Santana, I haven't seen you in ages. This is the only time we've actually seen each other. And I'm shocked you'd think that's what we do when we all get together. Whatever are you going on about?"

Santana rolls her eyes.

"I'm talking about this," she says impatiently, waving her arms around. "I'm talking about you already telling me all this yesterday. I heard you the first time and the answer is still no, I'm not going to your stupid Glee Club Reunion. I got your invite and decided even before I knew what that stupid scented card you sent over was all about that I wasn't coming. I'm not interested in gathering around some stupid fire and getting my kumbayah on and reminisce about how high school and Glee Club were the best times of my life, because they weren't. And no, I'm not interested in catching up with everyone else, okay? And I, certainly as hell, am not interested in having everyone know how I've been doing. And no, I'm not joining your stupid fundraising benefit whatchamacallit for the poor and homeless. I don't need to do that just so I can feel good about myself. And yes, yes, you still dress like one of the bait girls in 'To Catch a Predator'"

She tries, really tries, to ignore the hurt look on Rachel's face, but finds she can't. She does not understand why she feels vaguely guilty about all these. She tries to calm down.

"And for the record, getting the lead on 'Lord of the Rings the Musical' is so _not_ impressive. No, not all."

An awkward silence ensues, in which Rachel tries to think of something to say, a good comeback, but Rachel has never been good with comebacks. Instead she looks like she is about to cry and Santana hates that most of all. Shit, she thinks. She hopes Rachel will not make a scene now.

As if on cue, Suzie of course chooses to skip down the aisles, pack of Sour Patch in one hand and a box of Lucky Charms on the other, waving them at Santana, "Mom! I found 'em!"

Santana's smiles. She thinks she'll never get tired of seeing Suzie, even if it's the same scene playing over and over again.

"Mom?" Rachel says.

"Yes, she's my daughter. I'm her _mother_. And a pretty good one at that which is more than I can probably say for you." Santana says. "Suzie, this is Rachel, we went to high school together. She was loud and annoying and that's all you need to know about her."

"Okay…" Suzie begins to say, a bit cautiously.

Santana interrupts her, "And she's _not_ single, or available, or gay, or pretty, and she's a dwarf and I'm not interested and you have to stop doing that. You know better... And I _can_ cook!"

Santana glares at Rachel. Rachel now positively looks like she has just physically wounded her. Rachel is probably wondering where all these words Santana is saying is coming from. Santana ignores her.

"Well, we know someone's off their meds this morning," Rachel mutters, as she backs away. "Nice to see you Santana. I'll see you around."

Santana nods and pretends not to hear Rachel muttering, "Or not." when she thinks she's covered quite a distance between them.

Santana runs a shaking hand over her hair. _Shit_, she tells herself, get it together. What _is_ wrong with me? Am I going crazy? No, no, this can't be, if she screws up, they'll take everything away, they'll take Suzie away, and she'll never forgive herself. She promised. She promised Brittany she would take good care of Suzie, no matter what. Get a grip, Lopez, she tells herself again.

"Honey," Santana now turns to Suzie. "I've gotta go to Aunt Quinn for a while, okay if I drop you off at the house first?" she asks.

Suzie looks at her, cocks her head to the side. "You're acting really weird, mom," Suzie observes. "Like, really weird. Like weirder than usual. Even weirder than mommy used to be. And she couldbe _really_ weird."

"I know, I know, that's why I need to talk to Aunt Quinn okay?"

"Okay," the girl says after a few seconds.

So after Santana drops off the groceries and Suzie at home, she punches a quick text to Quinn that she is coming over and drives to her place.

"It's eight in the morning Santana," Quinn protests sleepily as Santana ignores her and marches down the hallway, shrugging out of her coat and boots along the way. "On a Saturday morning. Why are you here? Go away."

Quinn shakes her head as she picks up Santana's coat off of the floor and puts it over the couch. She runs a hand over blonde hair, shivers in her robe and yawns as Santana faces her.

"What day is it?" Santana demands.

"Wha…?" Quinn asks, confused, trying to stifle another yawn.

"The day... today." Santana says, impatiently. "What is it?"

"Nice to see you, too, Santana. Good morning. How are you? Nice of you to drop by after…oh three years of not calling, texting, emailing or coming over for a visit…" When Santana ignores her, Quinn stares at her, like she has gone mad. "Santana…what is going on?"

"Answer the question first."

"December 17. _Now_, will you tell me what the hell is going on?"

Santana shakes her head. "I dunno. I kind of just woke up today and found that it's _yesterday_ today."

Quinn looks at her for a moment, blinks twice, sighs and says, "Santana, I _told_ you to stop smoking all that weed in college. I think it destroyed some of your brain cells or something. Serves you right for being a pothead."

"Quinn," Santana whines, throwing up her hands, "I know this sounds crazy but I know all of this has happened before."

Quinn frowns. "Sure it did," she says, a little condescendingly.

"Dammit, Quinn, I'm trying to figure this out here," Santana says.

"And goddamit, Santana, it's eight in the morning and I just pulled an all-nighter and the baby's kept me awake all night and I've pretty much given up on sleep for the next, like, 18 years of my life and the last thing I wanna do is have this strange, out-of-this-world conversation with you today before I've had my coffee," Quinn says. "The longest conversation I've had with you, in fact, since the last time I saw you. Which was, what, since the Mesozoic era or something."

Quinn looks at Santana now. "Wait. Santana, you haven't been drinking, have you? Because that's…"

Santana narrows her eyes and shakes her head. "Fine. I'm leaving."

"Santana," Quinn says, moving to follow Santana's retreating back as the woman grabs her coat and angrily shoves her feet into her boots. "Wait," she says. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. See you later."

"You sure you're going to be okay?" Quinn calls out after her.

"Yeah, whatever," Santana answers, without turning her head, an absent-minded wave thrown her away.

"Okay, see you at the reunion later," Quinn calls out.

Quinn is not sure, but she could swear she heard an annoyed growl coming from Santana right before she steps into her car and drives away. "No, you're not," Santana says back.

Strangely enough, as she drives down the road, her car stalls right in front of McKinley High School and as she kicks and punches and curses and pops the hood to see what's wrong with her car, Mr. Figgins appears out of nowhere and says,

"Ms. Lopez, our resident teen lesbian. Welcome back. To what do we owe this visit?"

She yelps in surprise and jumps back, hand to her heart. He almost gives her a heart attack.

"Or is it Mrs. Something Something or other?" he continues. When Santana does not answer. He leans over, oblivious and asks, "Car trouble?"

Then he surprises her by checking under the hood.

"Your car is fine…" he begins and she tunes him out as she looks over at the school, freaking out by the minute.

This is a dream, she tells herself. It's a dream and I can't wake up and I probably only need to wake up…if I could just…wake myself up…

"Ms. Lopez, what are you doing?" Figgins asks, shocked.

Santana comes back to the present and realizes that she has been hitting herself with her hands, slapping her cheeks, kicking the tires and lightly hitting her head against the side of the car, just above the car door.

"What in the name of all that is sane are you doing?" Figgins continues. "Please step away from the vehicle. Please refrain from assaulting said vehicle with any of your appendages."

"Sorry," Santana mutters, embarrassed.

"Ah, you American children. Always doing the strangest things."

She stays quiet as he continues, "Right. As I was saying, your car is fine, but you might still need to have the engine checked. Might need some water, too. Anyway, welcome back. The school is closed on Saturdays, though I'm sure you already know that. But Mr. Schuester's Glee Club kids are practicing for some fundraising or other…"

"I'm not…here to see them," Santana says carefully.

"Oh," Figgins says. "Well, should you feel the need to freshen up…or tinkle…"

Santana gives him a disgusted look –

"The toilets there are not working. Again. Some students found it amusing to flush dynamite down the toilet bowls and we have been having…err…problems with the plumbing…"

"I'm not…here for that," Santana interrupts, squirming, still disgusted. Before Figgins can launch into a discussion on the challenges and issues of cleaning supplies and bodily fluids, Santana says, "I really have to go. Thanks for your help."

"Well, it was nice to see you, Ms. Lopez. Happy Holidays!" he greets as he waves and goes down the road. "Say, where's that sexy teen trollop you were always hanging out with? You two always seemed inseparable."

"I…" Santana begins. She shakes her head.

Figgins mercifully does not press the matter and continues on down the street. Santana wonders if she could get away with assault on a senior citizen, but decides against it.

Santana stands there, absently looking at her car, when her phone rings. She knows it is Suzie and she decides not to answer it. She does give her daughter a quick text to say that she is okay, lest she get worried about her mother.

She knows she should head home. Or go to the stupid Glee Club reunion. Or leave the State. Or something. But she's paralyzed with fear. With confusion. With panic. And so she does the only thing she usually does when confronted by situations like this: she goes to a bar, drowns her fear in alcohol, drunkenly picks up a random stranger , a woman with beautiful blue eyes, clear and liquid and earnest, and long, shiny, blonde hair, and she cries into her shoulder as she lay on top of her, in a dank, dark, motel room.

She drops off to sleep with the smell of stale cigarettes and beer on her.

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**_Author's note: Thanks for reading! Please review._**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Author's note: Thanks for sticking with me on this. Here's Chapter 3 for you. Enjoy and please review. Many thanks to my beta, DragonsWillFly for the comments and suggestions._**

* * *

Santana is not entirely surprised when she wakes up to Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" on the radio, and the dj saying "Good morning Lima, it's December 17, only eight days before Christmas and it's another cold, cold morning in Lima, Ohio, with temperatures at 40degrees Fahrenheit…" She decides she hates the song, and hates it with a vengeance. If she hears it one more time, she would probably light herself on fire.

She decides to get up before Suzie comes barreling into the room, sparing her daughter from having that minor accident down the stairs. She skips the kitchen scene, preferring to have her hands and feet intact, and announces to her mother and the rest of the family that she is going to the store for more milk and some other stuff, finding the time to inform her brother, Carlos, that his car is a piece of junk and she will also buy a can of kerosene and some matches and set fire to it when she gets the chance. Carlos eyes her with a hurt look as she leaves the house. She lets Suzie stay for the morning cartoons. She takes her own, more reliable car to the grocery store.

Like clockwork, Rachel materializes, as if on cue, like there is a hidden script somewhere and she's coming in to recite her part.

This is officially a fucking nightmare, Santana tells herself, as she looks at Rachel with undisguised distaste.

Before Rachel can say anything else, Santana smiles her nicest, most amiable smile and says, "Rachel, it's nice to see you, too. Yes, I'll go to your stupid Glee Club reunion, I'll even go to that stupid fundraising benefit you're having for the poor. Just…leave me alone for now."

Rachel stands there surprised and confused, long after Santana has gone off to get the aforementioned milk that she said she would buy.

Santana decides she needs answers and she needs it now.

So later that morning, she finds herself in front of Sam's house. She recalls Sam being the biggest dork in high school, with his penchant for James Bond and Darth Vader impersonations. She recalls him saying he's some IT software developer down at Silicon Valley now, which is some major science stuff, so she hopes he will answer her questions.

Sam opens the door in his boxers and undershirt, surprise registering on his face when he sees Santana on his doorstep.

"Santana?" he asks, rubbing his eyes of sleep.

"Sam, hi, good morning," she says, coming in from the cold, "Sorry for barging in like this, but I needed to ask some questions."

"And you couldn't ask them on the phone?" he asks, incredulously, as he follows her to the living room.

"I didn't know your number," Santana answers, lamely.

"Your mom does. Since that time you got caught drinking, she made sure she had every Glee Club member's number. She's been keeping tabs on everyone's digits for years," Sam points out.

"I didn't know that," Santana admits.

"Well, now you do," Sam says. "If you've kept in touch with people instead of just shutting everyone one off…"

"What is up with people today?" Santana suddenly blurts out, recalling what Quinn had told her on another December 17.

"I'm sorry, never mind. It's just, it's really important. And you seem the best person to answer some of the questions I have. I mean, you're the biggest geek I know, and right now I think you might be able to help," Santana says. "Unless you're busy or something. I can come back later."

Sam throws up his hands. "Never mind. I'm up anyway. My parents and sibs are out. But I think they might've left a pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen."

"Okay, great," Santana says, relieved. "Thanks, Sam," she says, as she follows Sam into the kitchen.

"So what's this all about?" Sam asks.

"Umm," Santana hesitates, unsure about how or where to start. "What do you think about time travel?"

"Huh," Sam says, deep in thought, as he stirs his cup of coffee with a teaspoon. "Time travel…"

Santana drinks her coffee nervously as she watches Sam think. She wants to kiss him for not thinking her strange for asking such a question.

"It's not possible," Sam finally says.

"What?" Santana asks, disappointed, desperate. "You sure? I mean…"

"It's just not possible, Santana," Sam reiterates. "Wait, I'll go get my stuff."

An hour later, comic books, hardcovers, encyclopedias, DVDs, and a laptop are scattered all over the kitchen table and Sam, in some trendy eyeglasses, looks over his laptop and shakes his head, "Nope, not possible."

"Well, why not?" Santana demands, pacing around the floor.

"Well, for one," Sam says, looking at her, while taking off his glasses, "Time does not exist. It's just a concept, an idea."

"What?" Santana asks. "Speak English."

"I can't explain it any simpler, Santana," Sam says, "Time travel isn't possible, because time does not exist and you can't travel through something that does not exist."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look at it this way. Ever been to Iceland?"

"No," Santana says.

"Well, if Iceland didn't exist, you can't really travel there, because it doesn't exist. You won't actually _get_ there. Because there's no there _there_."

Santana absorbs this, dejection settling in her being.

"Why are you asking me this anyway?" Sam asks.

"Nothing, I was just…curious," Santana says, sitting down slowly in one of the chairs.

"Huh," Sam says again. "Curious enough to come to my doorstep in this weather to ask me a random question, huh? Never figured you for a dork, but hey, whatever floats your boat."

"What about…"Santana hesitates, before she shakes her head and decides against it.

"What?"

"No, it's stupid."

"Let me be the judge of that," Sam says, smiling. "Tell me. C'mon, out with it."

"What about, living the same day over and over and over again?" Santana manages to ask quickly, realizing, as she said it, how ridiculous it sounds.

Sam shrugs. "Same difference. Still not possible. Like a time loop or time warp or some problem with the space time continuum, whatever?…no. Although from a metaphorical, metaphysical, ontological point of view that's a different thing. But to physically relive the same day over and over and over again is not possible."

Santana takes a deep breath. _Shit_, she says, _I'm really stuck_.

"But we're probably going about this the wrong way," Sam adds quickly when he notices the dejection and desolation on Santana's face. "I mean, we're looking at it from a hard scientific stance. There are a lot of phenomena that can't be explained by science."

Santana looks at him. "Like what?"

"Spontaneous combustion. Déjà vu. Ghosts. ESP. Telekinesis. Stuff like that," Sam says, carefully. "Supernatural, paranormal stuff. Maybe that's where your question falls into."

Santana looks confused. "How?"

"I don't know," Sam says, "I'm no expert. Maybe it's a curse, or something. But you know, you've got movies and TV shows and books that illustrate that concept, and it usually means something – like the character has to go through a significant change for the curse to lift or something."

"A curse," Santana says. _Shit_, she says again. Who would put a curse on her? Unless…and understanding grows on her face. She remembers a voodoo doll in high school, a voodoo doll that was supposed to look like…

And she stands up and starts pacing again.

"What's up? You okay?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I mean, I could be wrong, Santana," Sam says. "I could call Artie. He knows a bit about this stuff, too. What's this all about anyway?"

"Never mind, it's cool, it's not your problem," Santana says, going straight for the door.

"You're welcome," Sam says to a slammed door. "Nice of you to stop by. Missed you. And Brittany…"

"Did you put a hex on me, dwarf?" Santana says later, when she sees Rachel at the party.

"What? No. What?" Rachel says, in quick succession. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, I know we've had our differences, and I wouldn't put it past you to do something like this to get back at me, Berry, but if you did, so help me God, Berry, I'll…." Santana says, the anger bubbling up through the surface. It takes supreme effort for her to control herself. She takes a deep breath and says, "Look, we're reasonable beings. I just want to know if you haven't done anything stupid or…weird or creepy…"

"What's creepy is you going on about something as weird as what you're asking me right now," Rachel says, backing away from Santana as Santana slowly follows her.

Puck and Sam spot the exchange and Sam is able to lunge for Santana's waist before Santana is able to grab Rachel. A stream of unintelligible Spanish spew forth from her mouth, which end in "_Cosas malas! Cosas malas!_"

Santana ends up being wasted that night and she does not remember how she gets home, but she does, and she blacks out on her bed. She vaguely remembers telling herself that if she wakes up on today, tomorrow, doing the same things over and over and over again, for all eternity, she will probably kill herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author's note: Many thanks for your encouraging reviews and for staying with me on this, even if the story is a bit unusual. The positive response has been very encouraging. Again, many thanks to my beta, DragonsWillFly for the help with this chapter (especially this chapter!). _**

* * *

"_You think everyone will keep in touch with everyone else after graduation?" Brittany asks her, __sitting on Santana's bed. _

_Santana looks up at Brittany from her vantage point on Brittany's lap, putting down the magazine she is reading. An episode of Sweet Valley High is playing in Brittany's pink laptop, and Brittany has been watching the show for a few minutes when she suddenly asks the question. It is one of those lazy weekends where they have decided to hole up and spend time together rather than hang out with their friends. Santana prefers this to being out, really. There is something warm and comforting about being with Brittany. She feels secure. Safe. Like she is home. _

"_I don't know," Santana says. She shrugs. "I'm kind of just glad high school's over. Never really thought that far into the future."_

_Brittany nods and goes back to watching the episode. She runs her hand on Santana's hair absently. There is a silence as Brittany tries to follow the latest misadventures of the Wakefield twins. Santana goes back to reading her magazine._

"_What do you think our friends will be like years from now?" Brittany asks again. _

_Santana shrugs again. "I don't know."_

_"The future seems so far away," Brittany says, a faraway look on her face. After a heartbeat, she says, "It's important you know."_

_Santana looks up again from her magazine. She knits her brows._

_"What is? The future?"_

_"Keeping in touch with friends. Finding out what their life will eventually be like..stuff like that."_

_Santana thinks about this and grimaces. Clearly she does not agree with Brittany. "Why?"_

_"I don't know. It just seems important. To have people be there for you. Especially when you need them the most. To have people watch you grow, see what you can become, see what you're capable of."_

_Santana stares at her. Brittany has never spoken like this. Santana thinks she might freak out a little. She wonders where this is coming from, but, she waits for her to tell her what she is really thinking. _

_For a while, Brittany does not speak, and Santana thinks it is just one of those random conversations they have that will never be mentioned again._

_"I'd __really, really__ love to see if Mike and Tina's children turn out to be Asian," Brittany says suddenly, softly. "I'd love to see Artie get his robot legs on. I'd like to see if Kurt will finally embrace his awesome unicorn self. Actually, I'd __really__ like to see if Kurt will find a wardrobe that doesn't make me want to set myself on fire. Or scratch my eyes out. Hopefully not at the same time. Or in that order. And though Rachel creeps me out, I'd like to see if she makes it on Broadway."_

_Another silence descends on them. Santana waits. Finally Brittany sighs. _

_"I think you have to be nice to Rachel. And the others," Brittany says. _

_Santana scoffs. "What? Why? I don't need them. And I certainly as hell don't need Rachel freaking Berry. When I leave Lima, I'm never looking back. I'm never __going__ back."_

_Brittany smiles at her, soft blue eyes tender and loving. "Oh, honey. But you do. You need them. They need you. I think friends are important."_

_ "But you're all I need baby," Santana says, softly, looking at her. "You're all I ever needed." _

_There is a silence between them. Brittany smiles suddenly and hugs Santana. "I'm going to miss you."_

_"I love you."_

_"I love you, too."_

Santana stands in front of Mr. Schue's house, shivering and nervous and unsure of what to do next. Is this what you want me to do? She asks to no one in particular, looking up at the empty, cloudless, darkening sky. The sky looks back, indifferent. The landscape is silent, still, a gust of wind the only movement. It is eerie. She kicks some snow away from her boots, and pushes herself away from where she is leaning on her car. The steady thumping of hits from the 2000s assails her ears. She can recognize the regular staple of Glee Club set lists: Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Nicki Minaj and assorted other singers, playing on the stereo. In a few minutes, she is surprised by the house suddenly glowing and she almost shouts in panic before she realizes Mr. Schue has draped hundreds of Christmas lights all over his house, on the snowed-in lawn, on the windows, on the rooftops, on the walls, and on the bushes. A life-sized Santa Claus, complete with a sleigh and some reindeer, come to life on the lawn. It vaguely freaks Santana out. Leave it to Mr. Schue to overdo Christmas.

_If anyone is out there,_ she tells no one in particular, _and you are punishing me, I think you've made your point._

She feels relieved that though she is reliving the same day over and over and over again, she at least manages to avoid Figgins and she breathes a sigh of relief when he is nowhere to be seen.

She trudges up the walkway, careful not to slide on the frozen pavement, and manages to punch the doorbell before she loses her nerve.

She waits for a second and considers making a run for her car when dull footsteps come to the door and the unmistakable face of Ms. Emma Pillsbury, now Schuester , the school counselor reveals itself when the door is opened. A smile breaks on her face as she steps aside to let Santana in. Santana feels awkward. She knows Emma has heard her share of insults from Santana, but if she recalls any of those, she does not let on, or has conveniently forgotten them, as she leads Santana into the living room, excitedly chattering about seeing Santana after all these years, offering to take her coat for her and hanging it up in their coat room.

A chorus of excited "Santana!" "Satan!" "Hey, you!" "Dude!" erupts from the room at the sight of Santana, and a flurry of faces and bodies come to hug her, shake hands with her, chat her up.

"How you been?" "Where you been hiding out?" "What's up?" "We haven't heard from you in ages." "You look good!" "The years have been too, too kind to you, Santana."

She nods, at no one in particular. A little overwhelmed with the excitement, the warmth and the attention, emanating from all these people. After all these years, as if the distance, the time did not matter. She can vaguely pick out the owners of the voices, Mercedes, Tina, Quinn, Sam, Blaine, Kurt, Artie, Finn, Rachel, Puck…she mumbles the appropriate response to them, finding herself answering their questions: yes, she is a lawyer now, yes, she's enjoying it, she gets paid to scream at people all day long, it's the best deal ever, yes, she did go to New York, yes, she had a fantastic time there….but when they start asking personal questions, she shuts down. She is glad when she is no longer the center of attention and people drift back to the living room, where a makeshift karaoke platform has been set up. Just like old times. She cringes.

Somebody hands her a cup of coffee, another hands her a bottle of beer, and she chooses the beer over the coffee, because a Glee Club activity is not something she can do sober. As she takes in the too, too bright room, the Christmas tree, the decorations, her friends.

She hears a voice that could only be…

"Hey, Santana." the voice says, before large, tanned, muscled arms engulf her in a hug. The voice is unmistakable. It is Puck.

"How you been?" He says, pulling back and looking at her.

She smiles. Puck has ditched that stupid Mohawk he used to wear in high school, and has opted for a shaved head. After his stint in California, he has moved back to Lima, still doing his pool cleaning business, doing part-time work at Kurt Hummel's dad's garage, and maintains a store down the street. Of all her high school friends, Puck is one of only a few she has kept in touch with. The other being Quinn. It is better this way.

"Good," she says, finding that she has missed Puck. Then she spots Rachel and feels a burst of irritation, knowing Rachel does not remember this day, or any of the other days she has encountered Santana and says, "Although on second thought, ask me again after a couple of hours."

Puck laughs and squeezes her. "Sure thing."

Behind him a blond head appears, followed by the widest mouth she has ever seen and she breaks into a smile and says, "Trouty!"

"Santana," Sam says, grinning and stepping forward to hug her as well. "How's our hotshot lawyer?"

"Good, good," she says again.

"Awesome," he says.

Somebody plays even more Katy Perry, this time "Last Friday Night", and everyone is jumping up and down to in the middle of the room. She drinks from her bottle as she watches each familiar, but older faces dance and prance around the dance floor. With the alcohol to dull the awkwardness and boredom, she still feels bored and listless, but as the hours drag on, she eases into it. In the easy company of familiar faces and long-forgotten friendships. She even manages to talk to Mr. Schue without making fun of the fact that he's _still_ wearing one of the many endless vests he has been wearing since she went to school more than ten years ago. Mr. Schue is talking about a musical he's putting together, a fundraising project for the homeless and the orphans down at the center, and most of the Glee Club Alumni of 2012 has agreed, and would she want to join them as well? Santana shrugs. Why not, she asks herself. If she wakes up to another day tomorrow, it's fine. If she wakes up to the same day, then she doesn't have to do it.

Puck comes over to her, after talking to Lauren and asks, "How you doing now?" to which Santana answers, "_Fan-fucking-tastic._" Puck laughs, hands her another beer.

"Hey Santana," Finn says, a few minutes later, coming up to her, Puck and Sam, both of whom, she realizes, she has missed, as they chat by one of the tables.

"Hey Finnocence," Santana says.

Finn smiles tightly.

"And yes, I still think you're a loser," Santana quickly says, "So leave us alone please, afores I end you."

Finn leaves, visibly annoyed.

"Still got the touch," Puck says.

"You bet your ass I do," Santana says.

Puck grins. "Remember that time Lauren creamed you when you tried to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on her ass?"

Santana laughs until she realizes that that wasn't one of her finest moments.

"Oh yeah, and remember that time you creamed Quinn when she blabbed to Coach Sue about your surgery?" Sam adds.

"You always did have a mean left hook," Puck says.

Puck and Sam both laugh.

"Yeah, and remember those countless times we tried to restrain you every time you tried to lunge for Rachel?" Sam continues.

"Yeah, and you're always all like, 'Alright, lemme at her, lemme at her, _puta madre_!'" Puck says.

They both laugh. "What does that mean anyway?" Puck asks. Then they spot Rachel and Puck mutters, "Speak of the devil."

Rachel drifts over to their group and attempts to strike up a conversation, but Santana beats her to it and asks, "Hey Yentl, I was just wondering. When you stop and smell the roses, are the flowers afraid of you?"

Sam and Puck both explode into new fits of uncontrollable laughter as Rachel leaves in a huff. "You're such a jerk, Santana."

"Shut up," Santana says as they continue to laugh. "Anyway, I would have you know, I'm a respected lawyer now."

"Even cooler, dude," Puck says. "Bad ass forever."

"Except for you," Santana turns to Sam. "Because you're still a dork."

Puck almost chokes on his beer, trying not to laugh.

"Seriously, your cringe worthy Sean Connery and Darth Vader impersonations…ugh…I can't believe I gave you visitation rights to my twins. It's a wonder you were able to convince someone to sleep with you," Santana continues, smiling.

"Good times, good times," Puck says, raising his bottle of beer.

"Here, here," Sam says, offering his as well.

Santana raises her glass of water.

"What is that shit?" Puck says, looking at her glass of water, before grabbing it, putting it on the nearest table and replacing it with a bottle of cold beer.

And then they make a toast to the good times.

* * *

As the night deepens, Santana finds it easier to talk to people, even though she knows she is dangerously close to being drunk. She realizes she does not mind catching up to friends. She is positively thrilled Mike has gone on tour all over the world for a cultural dance group ("It doesn't pay much," Mike admits, "But I'm happy. And if all goes well, I could probably have my own dance studio by fall next year!" he says excitedly.) and Tina has gone on to have a semi-successful song-writing career ("I blame our musical collaborations, Santana," she says, "Starting with 'Trouty Mouth'". Santana laughs), and they are happily married and have two beautiful kids whose pictures Mike insists Santana has to see, to Tina's embarrassment. Mercedes has gone on to sing some of Tina's songs, and some that aren't, going on tour herself ("Whitney it ain't," Mercedes says, "But I'm living the dream!"). Kurt still wears his hideous outfits, but gets paid to do it, and gets to sing on Broadway as well, along with Rachel, with whom he has become inseparable. Mostly though he is a popular talk show host. Sam is an IT software developer for Silicon Valley. Quinn works in Congress and is a small business owner. Artie, Puck, Finn have all opted to stay in Ohio, or have ventured out into the world and decided it wasn't for them, and Lima was. Most, save for Rachel and Santana, are married, with children. Rachel divorced, and Santana…well, Santana is…without Brittany. Santana thinks that Suzie now has the answer to her question. Rachel _is_ single. Although why she thinks this random thought now, she does not know.

She is interrupted from her thoughts by Rachel taking the mike in front. She wonders why Rachel is up on the stage, but knowing Rachel, and her need to go onstage, and be the center of attention, making some speech or another, to a round of applause. It's so Rachel, that Santana ignores it and heads to the kitchen, choosing to get another beer and wondering if they have something stronger.

Her head snaps up when she vaguely hears Brittany's name on Rachel's lips, echoing throughout the room. She turns around, wondering what Rachel is talking about, as a silence seems to have descended in the air, and the first guitar strings of "Landslide" float out melodiously from the karaoke machine.

Santana's face burns. She grips the glass so tightly she fears it will break. Her heart is pounding so loudly in her chest she's afraid everyone can hear it. Rage begins to boil at the pit of her stomach. _She has no right, no right_, she keeps telling herself as Rachel starts to sing the song.

She does not let her finish the song. She walks out of the house in a huff.

Before she can take a step further, she finds a hand holding her arm, a voice saying, "Santana wait…"

She recognizes the voice and whips around angrily.

"What the fuck was that all about?" she says, between gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says softly. "I didn't…I mean, I shouldn't have…If I'd known…It was stupid of me to…"

"That's right, it was…and you are…" Santana says. "You had no right…." she continues, "You selfish, selfish, idiot! You…"

"She was my friend, too, Santana," Rachel says, "It was just a way of honoring her…just…I don't know why you're so upset…"

Santana moves, raises her hand, Rachel winces, tries to take a step back, before Santana realizes what she is doing, puts her hand down, sighs and hangs her head. Santana suddenly feels tired. Tired and defeated. She does not even know why she is angry at Rachel. Brittany and Rachel were friends after all.

"Just… leave me alone, Rachel."

Rachel leaves.

Santana stands there, wondering what to do. She wants to go home. But she knows she needs to calm down before she goes home. She does not want Suzie to see her like this. She has seen Santana like this too many times. And so Santana finds herself at the Schuesters' backyard, on one of the porch swings, just swinging back and forth.

* * *

She sits there, on the porch swings, huddling against the cold, smoking a cigarette, for what seems like hours, until Quinn comes and finds her there a few minutes later, shivering and alone.

"Thought I might find you here," Quinn says, offering her a drink, a coat and another cigarette.

Santana smiles. "Hey."

"Hey." Quinn plops on the empty porch swing next to Santana's.

"How's Congress treating you?"

Quinn laughs. "Oh you know. Same old, same old. We've put a woman in the White House, but the old farts in Congress still feel a bit jittery when we say the word …_vagina_."

Santana laughs. "Right. I forgot about that."

"How about you?"

Santana takes a swig from her bottle. "Never better."

"And Suzie?"

"At home, with the folks."

"I have her Christmas present at home. You should come by and pick it up. Mom would love to see you guys. I'm Suzie's godmother after all."

Santana smirks. "Don't remind me."

Quinn looks at her, exhaling against the cold. "Don't be a jerk."

"Sorry."

"You're not the only one who lost her you know."

Santana swallows the self-same anger she recognizes from when she saw Rachel at the grocery store, and instead, takes a puff of her cigarette and a drink of her beer.

"I mean…it's been three years, Santana…"

"I have to go back inside," Santana interrupts her, and leaves without letting Quinn say anything.

Quinn stands there all alone, in the coldness and darkness of Ohio winter.

When Santana enters the house, finding the same familiar people looking at her again, with something akin to pity, worry, remorse on their faces, she feels the unmistakable need to drink more alcohol.

* * *

A good many shots of tequila, whiskey and vodka a couple of hours later, Quinn patiently holds Santana's long, dark, wavy hair against her head as she heaves into the sink in one of the bathrooms of Mr. Schuester's house.

Quinn cringes at the sound and the smell of sick and looks away as Santana vomits into the sink.

"How much have you had to drink?" Quinn demands, as she rubs Santana's back gently.

"I don't know," Santana admits.

"Dammit, Santana," Quinn says. She stays quiet for a second. "Well, from how everyone back there looks like they want to kill you, or at least bind and gag you until the reunion is over, I think you may have had a tad too much."

"They don't hate me," Santana says, coming back up and looking right at Quinn, trying not to slur her speech. "You guys love me. I'm _still_ hilarious and I _still_ know how to keep it real."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Clearly ," she says sarcastically. " 'Cause when you told Finn he's still a creepy, pathetic, massive man-child loser who not only did _not_ escape Lima, but also did _not _escape high school and is probably trapped in some unhappy marriage like some tired, old cliché, all he wanted to do was hug you and tell you how much he missed you, am I right?"

Santana smirks. "S'true."

"Santana, you really said some bad things in there," Quinn says, serious now.

"I mean you told Kurt he _still_ dresses like something bright and shiny crawled on him and _died," _Quinn continues. Santana looks at her with a "So-what?" look on her face, and Quinn says, "You told him Liberace called and he wants most of his wardrobe back! You cut off Mr. Schu when he was trying to invite you to join his stupid musical project for the homeless or something by saying, you can't believe he _still_ hasn't gotten fired for not knowing how to teach Spanish _or_ coach Glee Club. And when you saw Ms. Pillsbury, I mean Mrs. Schuester, you told her you can't believe she finally found the guts to let him touch her. Your exact words were, 'I can't believe you let 'im touch you, eeeww, gross'."

Santana laughs.

"It's not funny, Santana."

"You told Rachel you were disappointed she didn't move to Israel."

"So?"

"So, that was just downright nasty. She seemed really hurt when you told her that while you think her singing has vastly contributed to that wonderful dying art form of musical theatre, you think her greatest contribution to the world would be sterilization," Quinn says, arms crossed in front of her.

Santana looks at her, again smirks in reply and waits as Quinn says, "Okay, I must admit that last part was funny..."

"There you go, I still have it," Santana says.

Quinn rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation. "Whatever."

Santana huffs.

"C'mon, I'll take you home," Quinn says softly, grabbing Santana's elbow and gently pulling her to the door.

"Wha…? Why? The party's just begun," Santana says.

"Santana," Quinn says, exasperated, "You're drunk and you need to sleep it off. You'll thank me when you still have friends in the morning. Besides, at the rate you're going, you're going to black out any minute now, and Suzie's not going to like that."

At the mention of Suzie's name, Santana drops her head, suddenly a bit ashamed of what she has done. She looks back up at Quinn and nods. She hears herself sobbing before she realizes that she's crying.

"Oh, god, this again?" Quinn asks, exasperated. "Seriously, Santana?"

Santana sobs by way of reply.

"That's it, Santana, no more alcohol for you, _ever_," Quinn says. "I would have thought having all those alcohol-addled misadventures you've had would have discouraged you from this kind of behavior, but clearly, I am mistaken."

At this, Santana cries harder. Quinn rolls her eyes. "Okay. C'mon. My car's parked this way."

They drive home in silence, Santana breathing heavily on the passenger seat. She is trying to stay awake, but she realizes she may have drunk too much.

When they get to the Lopez house, the house is quiet, and Quinn and Santana are relieved for that, because it means the family did not have to see an inebriated Santana her first day out.

As it turns out, everyone has gone out and only Mrs. Lopez, matriarch of the Lopez clan, is home, too old, she says, to brave the cold just to have a bit of wintry fun.

Mrs. Lopez pretends not to see how drunk Santana is, but instead nods to Quinn as Quinn leads Santana to her old childhood bedroom. Santana can hear her mother and Quinn talk in hushed tones, but she ignores it, and when the voices drift away, she is glad for it, and closes her eyes, waiting for sleep to come.

Sleep does come and it comes quickly for Santana Lopez.

* * *

**_Author's note: To Sharkgeek & Pezberrylover0612 - yes, you've got the movie right. _**

**_To Lee - who is asking about the character death/suicide. Though I'd really love to answer that question, you have to stick with the story to find out. :-) I say this only because it's integral to the story. I don't like giving away the story. :-) _****_ Sorry about that._**

**__****_And to answer one reader's question: I will try to update as often and as fast as I can (barring writer's block). _**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's note: Chapter 5 is up! Thanks for everyone's patience. _**

* * *

Santana is not at all surprised when she wakes up in the exact same day the next day. Which was yesterday. When the alarm starts playing the first strains of "All I Want for Christmas is You," and the dj announces that not only is it December 17, but that there are only eight days before Christmas and it's a cold, cold morning in Lima, Ohio, with temperatures at 40 degrees Fahrenheit, Santana decides she not only loathes the song, but also loathes the annoying dj and if she ever actually gets out of this, she will hunt down the dj and personally put him out of commission. She pulls the alarm out of its socket and throws it against the wall.

The next day, which is the same day really, December 17 all over again, the alarm sits by her bedside table, playing "All I Want for Christmas is You". She is this close to giving into the urge to kill herself.

She has lost the will or energy to live. What pains her the most is the fact that nobody else knows what is going on. For everybody else, when the day ends, it feels like a clock that has been reset, so they all go through the same motions of the same day, blissfully ignorant and oblivious to her predicament, whilst she is all too painfully aware that though the day may have been reset to the same day, her mind, her consciousness, is aware of every previous incarnation of December 17. Alone in the room, listening to the radio dj talk about how cold it is and all, she feels a crippling despair, a desolation, a hopelessness that cannot be assuaged by anything. She feels like a caged animal, trapped in this day, the people she knows, the people she loves, the unwitting custodians of this private hell she now finds herself in.

She tries to get up, but finds it physically impossible. She stays in bed all day, all night, falling asleep hoping the next day would be a new day, only to realize that it is the same day the next day. It is like she has lost the will to live and she has to find something, a reason, to live.

Santana cries.

_"She's so tiny," Santana says._

_Brittany looks up and smiles at her, then goes back to the newborn infant in her arms. "She really is. So, so, so tiny."_

_Santana smiles. Brittany knits her brows together._

_"You look tired, hon, why don't you go home and get some sleep or something?" Brittany asks._

_Santana grins. "Are you kidding me? I've been dreaming about this day my whole life. Wouldn't miss a single moment of it."_

_"You've been dreaming of knocking someone up since you were a kid?" Brittany teases._

_Santana rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."_

_Brittany chuckles. But then Santana tries to stifle a yawn, and Brittany gives her an "I-told-you-so" look. Santana looks back at her, determined to keep her eyes open. There are dark circles under her eyes. She has not left Brittany's side since her water broke last night. She has been one bundle of nerves from the minute Brittany announced __that her water __broke, to the time where they realize the car wouldn't start,__then __the long tense wait for the cab. To the time the cab driver announces, when puffs of smoke start spewing out of the hood, a few blocks from the hospital,__that something is wrong with the cab and they have to get off. Then__the slow, arduous walk to the hospital, duffle bag in one arm, Brittany in the other, as Brittany winces and groans in pain, all the way to the emergency room, when after a few tense hours, the doctor emerges, sweaty and anxious, announcing there are complications. The cord is wrapped around the baby's neck and they have to have an emergency C-section. Santana paces up and down, outside the room, nervous, restless, frightened, alone. She remembers wishing her mom would be here, she would know what to say. Or even her Abuela, who would probably threaten to beat her up with one of the chairs if she did not stop pacing up and down like a maniac. Santana remembers thinking she cannot lose Brittany. Given a choice between Brittany or the baby, she would choose Brittany. That was never a question. Brittany would insist of course, on the baby, that is how Brittany is, but maybe this is some mother's instinct bullshit or something, because Santana would never allow that. Santana remembers that for some strange reason, she finds herself in the chapel. She has wondered what her mom would do in this situation, and being a devout Catholic, she would probably tell Santana to pray. She has not been in a chapel since she came out in high school. Something about the ministers always saying gay people will go to hell, left a bad taste in her mouth. But today, she finds herself kneeling in one of the pews, hands together, eyes closed, searching her memory for the long-lost prayers of her youth. The words she used to recite with her mother during mass, but no words come…and so she ends up simply talking to God, asking Him to keep her wife and baby safe. Lord, she remembers praying, I've never asked You for anything, I only ask this of You, and I swear I will never ask anything from You ever again. She thinks now she should not have said that. Because when she comes to this chapel again, her prayer seems to have fallen on deaf ears…_

_"Do you want to hold her?" Brittany asks, breaking through her thoughts._

_Santana looks at her, makes a strangled noise, unsure, hands up, shakes her head, backs away, but Brittany insists, holding the baby out. Santana is not sure of this, she has never been good with children, and for the longest time, long before Brittany announced she was pregnant, Santana has debated with herself about the wisdom of agreeing to co-parent a child, agreeing to raise a child with Brittany. "I can barely take care of myself!" is Santana's usual defense during discussions about the merits of having a child. Brittany's ready argument is always, "But you've always taken good care of me. A baby's the same thing. Except tinier. Much, much tinier." Santana does not know why, but she always loses this argument._

_Santana now finds the baby shoved in her unwilling arms. Her heart is pounding. She is afraid, uncertain, flustered, frightened __that __she might drop the baby, but Brittany smiles at her encouragingly (if there is one thing she loves about Brittany, it is that she has never given up on her, believed in her, has loved her completely, unconditionally. And for this she will always, always love Brittany) and she looks down at the baby, and the baby looks up at her, blinking, with the bluest eyes she has ever seen, bluer than Brittany's. Blue and innocent and trusting. The baby squirms, whimpers, makes a face, cries and Santana whispers something, a prayer, a supplication. Words her own mother used to whisper to her to calm her down;__and the baby grows quiet and she has this strange feeling, mixed with elation, that the baby recognizes her voice. Recognizes who she is, for apart from Brittany's voice, Santana's voice is the one other constant sound in her life when she was still in the womb… the baby's hands go up, and they are tiny, the tiniest she has ever seen;__and she remembers a poem she learned__in high school. A __poem about small hands being compared to the rain. How the person believes that nothing...__not even the rain __can __have such small hands, and she remembers finding that line not only unflinchingly trite, but also ridiculous, but she looks at this baby, and realizes what the poem means…She looks like Brittany, Santana remembers thinking…but she looks a little like me, too. Santana feels like her heart is about to break. Santana does not know she could ever love something this tiny…this fragile. Santana realizes she will love this baby forever._

_"She's beautiful," Santana says, finally._

_"She really is," Brittany says._

When she wakes up to a song, a voice, the sound and flurry of footsteps and blonde hair and the bluest, most trusting, innocent eyes she has ever seen, Santana thinks waking up to the same day over and over and over again cannot be so bad, if it means waking up to her daughter, forever frozen in time, forever innocent, forever young…Yes, Santana thinks this is not so bad after all.

And so Santana gets up every day, to the same day, making the most of it, taking it in stride, because this is how Santana Lopez takes things.

So she spends this day, and the next few days that are really the same day as today was, with her family, with her mother and father, and her brother Carlos, and his son, Carlitos, and the many uncles and aunts that she has, and most of all, Suzie. She does not go to the Glee Club reunion or the grocery store, or McKinley High. If she wakes up on the same day tomorrow, she can go then, and there are days when she does visit the reunion to see how different the day would be from the same day she lived the day before.

She teams up with her daughter to beat her brother Carlos and his son, Carlitos, at Halo. They play Rock Band together, and she finds she has missed singing. Ever since Brittany…she has not really sung anything. Or played anything. Like she has lost the song in her heart. But she and Suzie sing, sing to their heart's content, and when Suzie asks her to sing some rock songs, she gamely does. They beat Carlos and Carlitos at that, too.

She finally learns the secret recipe to the cookies her abuela used to make. She does not get it right away, but as she relives the same day over and over again, she finally gets it right.

There are days when all she does is teach Suzie what Spanish she knows. It isn't much, but Suzie seems to appreciate it. She labels objects, furniture, things at home, so Suzie can remember them more. Brittany had always wanted Suzie to be bilingual. Suzie forgets everything again the next day, because it is still the same day for Suzie, while it is really an entirely different day for Santana, but she loves this – if she were to wish for something it is this: that she be given a chance to relive a day spent just being with her daughter. She never gets tired of it.

There are days when Santana takes Suzie out for skating, and she marvels at how graceful her daughter is, easing into the rink like a swan to a lake, gliding effortlessly down the rink like she was born to do this, swaying to a music only she can hear, oblivious to the other skaters around her. Santana feels the love for Suzie well up inside her and she feels tears in her eyes, a lump in her throat.

Sometimes they make snow angels on the front yard of the Lopez house, or a snow man, or they make a fire by the chimney and huddle around it for warmth and make marshmallows and s'mores the way they used to do it with Brittany, sipping hot chocolate and laughing and teasing each other.

Sometimes Santana takes her daughter to the places where she and Brittany used to go to – the movies, the mall, the Lima Bean, Breadstix. She takes her McKinley High, where she finds Figgins lurking around, talking about teen lesbians and sexy teen trollops and toilets and bodily fluids like nobody's business.

Santana brings her to their lockers, brings her to the indoor gym, to the place where she first met Brittany, to the fields at the back where the Cheerios used to practice for the big games, and finally, to the Glee Club room, where she and Brittany used to sing and dance and dream.

Suzie listens every time. And though for Santana it is the same day every day, it is not, for Suzie, and every time Santana says something new, Suzie takes it in, like it is something new, like a gem that she is supposed to treasure. Santana loves her more for it.

Every time Santana takes Suzie out to somewhere where she and Brittany used to go to and Santana would tell the story of why such and such a place was Brittany's favorite, Suzie would always thank her. Once, Santana asks her why she is thanking her and Suzie is silent for a moment, debating whether to tell her mother the reason, before she finally decides on telling Santana the truth, "Please don't get mad, mom, but…I'm beginning to forget mommy I'm beginning to forget what she looked like, how she sounds, how she smells, who she is…I don't want to forget mom…I'm sorry…but…I'm beginning to forget…."

Suzie looks up at Santana, with those blue, blue eyes that are older than they actually are, and Santana sees how young Suzie really is, and she does not know what to say, cannot find the right words to tell Suzie. Suzie mistakes her silence for anger and she cries. Santana scrambles towards her, holds her, comforts her, tells her it is okay. She is not mad, because truthfully, Santana is beginning to forget, too. And it terrifies her.

* * *

**_Author's note: Many thanks to DragonsWillFly for the help and the very encouraging input! Keeps me motivated. :-) _**

**_There will be a few chapters more, so you don't have to wait to see how everthing pans out. I know you guys just want to know what is going on with everyone, but everything will be revealed in due time. Everything hopefully will come together and loose ends tied up. Just bare with me for a few more chapters!_**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's note: Chapter 6 is up! Again, many thanks to everyone for their patience. Also, at this point, I'd like to remind everyone to refer to the warning on the story summary indicated above. Read at your own risk. You've been warned. **_**:-)**_** Enjoy.**_

* * *

"_If you had all the time in the world, what would you do?" Brittany asks her once, that night Brittany had to stay overnight at the hospital for the operation._

_Santana is holding her tenderly, running her fingers over Brittany's bare arms, planting a kiss now and then on Brittany's blonde head. Brittany smells of strawberries and sunshine. It is Santana's favorite smell. It masks the antiseptic smell of the hospital – a smell she hates, a smell she has come to associate with the time she almost lost Brittany and Suzie the first time they set foot in this hospital._

_Brittany is nervous, anxious, tense. Brittany has insisted she stay and the fear, the unmitigated, unadulterated fear on Brittany's face, is new, something she has not seen before, and so she stays, climbs into the bed with Brittany, holds her as they watch an episode of Sweet Valley High on Santana's laptop._

_Suzie has called them earlier. Ever the bubbly and cheerful four-year-old, she gives them a detailed, point-by-point account of her first night without her mothers, at her Abuela's care. From what Santana can gather from Suzie, they are eating tacos and enchilada, while watching an old Thalia telenovela on television. Suzie recounts the episode they are watching to her and Santana listens, horrified, __and __makes a mental note to talk to her mother about age-appropriate viewing._

_Brittany now gently nudges her for an answer, mistaking her silence for something else._

_Santana never thinks twice about these random questions, she just takes them in stride, answers them, thinks they can never happen. "If you had a million dollars what would you spend it on? If you could spend parts of the year in another city, what city would it be? If you were to go on a trip and you could only bring one item, what would it be? If you were to go to another planet, and could bring only three people, who would you bring? If you only had a month to live, what would you?"_

_Suzie is much better at Brittany's random question game than Santana. When Suzie and Brittany are together, it is like they have their own world. Brittany can ask Suzie anything and Suzie can answer her gamely: "If you could be a color, what would you be? If you could be an emotion what would be? If you could be an animal, what would you be?" "Pink! Love! Dolphin!" Suzie answers gamely. Of all the things that surprise Santana about Brittany, it is this: that she is an amazing mother._

_"__If you could have all the time in the world, what would you do?" Brittany repeats the question._

_"What would I do?" Santana asks, thinking about the question. "I'd spend it with you."_

_Brittany rolls her eyes. "Aside from that. That's like, your stock answer. All the time. I won't get mad if you don't want to spend it with me. You already spend waaaay too much time with me anyway. You so need to get a life."_

_Santana grins. "But I do too want to spend it with you. I won't ever get tired of you or spending time with you."_

"_Really?" There is a glint of a challenge in Brittany's eyes, followed by a smile. "Even if all my hair falls out and I'm bald and nauseous and throwing up all the time and I'm always in a bad mood and everything? The doctor says that might happen you know."_

"_Yes."_

"_Sure? Even if my teeth fall out and I have problems with my bladder and my bowel movement and I'm sick all the time and we can't have sex…?"_

"_Well…" Santana thinks, "Now that you mention it…that last part might be a bit of a problem…"_

_Brittany laughs, pulls her closer, kisses her tenderly, whispers "I love you" to Santana._

_Santana whispers it back, and she holds her like she will never let her go. Holds her like she is willing this disease to go away. They fall asleep like this – in each other's arms._

What would she do if she had all the time in the world?

Santana's stock answer would have been, to be with Brittany and Suzie.

It was one of many, random conversations Brittany has asked Santana. Over the years, Brittany's idea of random topics for conversation had morphed from dolphins as gay sharks to questions on _life_, of all things. Brittany asks more of these kinds of questions when she finds that one lump on her breast one lazyafternoon. Santana remembers that day like it is yesterday, soft rays of the afternoon sunlight shining on Brittany's sun-kissed skin. They have been taking a bath in the bathtub together when Santana notices it first, runs her fingers on Brittany's breasts. She asks what they are. Brittany's thinks it is nothing. Santana_hopes_, with a vague dread, that it is nothing.

It changes everything for all of them.

It changes Santana's life.

It shatters it.

* * *

_If you could have all the time in the world, what would you do?_

This question echoes in Santana's head now. She regrets not having given Brittany a proper answer. She thought then that they _did _have all the time in the world.

_"It's important you know."_

_"What is? The future?"_

_"Keeping in touch with friends. Finding out what their life will eventually be like… To have people be there for you. Especially when you need them the most. To have people watch you grow, see what you can become, see what you're capable of…"_

* * *

_It is Quinn who first comes to the hospital._

_Santana emerges from her sleep-induced stupor to see Quinn standing there, before her, blouse and skirt rumpled, long, wavy blonde hair tied in an unkempt knot at the base of her neck, dark circles under her eyes. Eyes bloodshot and weary. An overnight bag sits beside her. In the harsh light of the hospital, Quinn looks exhausted._

_They look at each other, Quinn's steely, blue gray eyes on Santana's dark brown ones. Santana cannot speak. Is too shocked to speak. Had not expected Quinn to be here. Tries to open her mouth, but no words come out._

"_I came as soon as I heard."_

_Quinn's words are simple, to the point._

_Santana gazes at her. She nods. She stands up. She still does not know what to say._

_Quinn steps forward and holds Santana in her arms. They do not speak. They do not need to. It is what makes their friendship what it is. They have never needed to speak about things that never needed to be said out loud. Quinn holds her tightly, for what seems like forever. Santana clings to her. Clings for dear life._

_And Santana cries._

_She cries like she has never done before._

_And she doesn't stop._

* * *

_It is Brittany who has called Quinn. Santana is surprised by this, does not know what to say._

"_Baby, you know you've never been good at these things anyway, right?" Brittany says from the hospital bed, small tube in her nose, as she explains how Quinn came to be at the hospital just when Santana and Brittany needed them the most. Santana has insisted they not tell their friends – did not want to tell them about this. She does not want their pity, their sympathy, stupid empty words of consolation that will never be enough for Santana. "You're great at, like, hatching bitchy schemes and seeing them through. But you're really bad at logistics and organizing stuff. "_

_Tubes snake through Brittany's arm and her nose, electronic equipment beeping and humming beside her bed. Brittany has lost weight, bones vaguely protruding from her skin, is pale, exhausted. Her hair, her beautiful, blonde hair is gone and Brittany is vain enough to have it covered by a cap. But her eyes are the clearest blue that Santana has ever seen them, bold, defiant, the most alive Santana has ever seen them. She smiles now as she teases Santana about this. Because even in Brittany's drug-induced stupor, she has managed to think about the logistics, has called their parents up, asked them to take care of Suzie for them for a while, has called each of their friends up to tell them what is happening, arranged for things that Santana could not do herself._

_They have sent their daughter to Ohio when they find out Brittany would have to stay at the hospital longer. Brittany goes to the hospital for her regular treatments and is always too drug-addled to help take care of Suzie. And Santana is too busy taking care of Brittany to take care of Suzie, too. Brittany does not say anything, but she knows this._

_It is unfair for Suzie, Brittany reasons out to Santana one night, when Santana adamantly refuses to let Suzie go stay with their parents in Lima for a while. Both of their parents have already agreed. Have offered to come stay at their house, but Brittany and Santana refuse. They both agree that it is better for Suzie to stay in Lima instead._

_Santana finally agrees when Brittany gives her the real reason she wants Suzie back in Lima, albeit temporarily: she does not want Suzie to see her like this, see her slowly wasting away, dying every day. Brittany wants Suzie to remember her as she was before the disease claimed her and regurgitated this empty shell of a body. She wants her to remember Brittany as the mother who sang to her, danced with her, laughed with her, ran around the beach with her, shared birthdays and Christmases and her first bike ride with her._

_Santana knows Brittany's heart is breaking when she makes this decision, and though Santana is against it, she reluctantly agrees._

_They both still see Suzie when she comes to visit both of them. She is four. She finds hospitals fascinating._

_Santana half-snorts, haughtily now and says, "Whatever. We're still not playing 'Disco Duck' and 'Purple People Eater' during the service."_

_Brittany rolls her eyes. "Fine. Whatever."_

_Quinn yawns, cannot help but smile at this banter, shaking her head._

_Brittany looks at her and shakes her head, "See what I have to put up with?"_

_One by one they come, Finn, Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, Puck and Sam, even Mr. Schuester and Coach Sue Sylvester. Puck and Sam stay longer, being in California. Quinn stays the longest, takes care of Santana, helps her take care of Brittany, stays with her. Quinn does not leave Santana's side. Santana never tells her to._

* * *

_**Author's note: Thanks for reading. Next chapter is up. **_**:-)**_** Many thanks to my awesome beta, DragonsWillFly, for going over this with me. You and your insights and patience have been really helpful. **_

_**Review away! **_**:-)**


	7. Chapter 7

Once, during one of those self-same endless December 17s, when she takes Suzie to McKinley, Mr. Schue spots them peeking into the Glee Club room. Where he has his kids, and some alumni. (She spots a few, Sam, Puck, Artie, Tina, Mercedes and Rachel standing near the piano. The hallowed ground where Rachel and only Rachel was allowed to stand and sing and dance and make speeches to rally the troops for the better part of their high school lives. It is apt that she is doing exactly that right now, "No, no, stage left! Stage left! Your _other_ stage left! You! Center stage. Oh, wait, that's me." Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes.).

"Hey, Santana." Mr. Schue says, smiling and laughing as he sees her, "You here to join us for our rehearsals for 'Once on this Island'?"

"Uh... no. Not really." Santana says.

"Oh." Mr. Schue says, disappointed. "I'm sorry to hear that. But anyway, you're coming to the little Glee Club reunion later, right?"

"Um, not sure." Santana begins to say, but Suzie interrupts and says,

"Yes, she is!"

Mr. Schue looks down, sits in front of Suzie, and asks, "And who might this pretty little thing be?"

Suzie smiles. "I'm Suzie. I'm named after my mommies. She's..." indicating Santana, "My mom. Who are you?"

Mr. Schue laughs. "Nice to meet you, Suzie. I'm Mr. Will Schuester. I used to be your mom's teacher in high school. They call me Mr. Schue."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Schue." Suzie says, taking the hand he is offering. "Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing much. We're rehearsing for tonight. We have this small musical production going on and we're just getting ready to show it," Mr. Schue answers. "You're welcome to stay, if you want."

"Can we stay mom?" Suzie asks her mom.

"I don't know," Santana says uncertainly.

"Pretty please?" Suzie asks, looking up at her with her dark blue eyes.

Santana sighs. "Oh, alright."

"Yes!"

"But not too long. Abuela might be looking for you."

"Okay, mom." Suzie answers, but she has already skipped to one of the chairs, watching a group of kids practicing a few simple dance moves, while a few vocalize near the piano and a few listen intently to Rachel as she gives them instructions. Kurt is sitting in one of the chairs, sewing what appear to be costumes. Tina and Sam sit beside Kurt, helping him.

Rachel nods and mutters a good morning.

"Morning, Berry," she smirks, making her way to one of the chairs, the one nearest to Tina.

"What's all this about?" she asks Tina after a silence.

"Oh, this?" Tina absently gestures to the place. "This is Rachel's idea of a holiday. In fact, this is Rachel's idea of friendship, strong arming friends into joining so she can have more hands doing costumes, sets, props, whatever."

"No. I mean, the musical."

"Oh, it's 'Once on this Island'."

"Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't." Tina says. Before Santana comes up with a retort to that, Tina quickly says, "I mean, it's an award-winning musical, but it's nowhere near as popular as Cats or Miss Saigon or Phantom of the Opera or Les Mis."

"Ah."

"We actually need a few more voices. Me, Kurt, Rachel and the others are pulling double duty singing, because some of the kids are off sick or off on holidays. And also just to give the chorus a fuller sound. You want to join us?" Tina asks.

"Not familiar with the songs. Or the lyrics." Santana points out. "Don't even know the choreography. Or the blocking. Or the story."

"The story's pretty basic actually," Tina says matter-of-factly. "It's based on Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Little Mermaid', except it's set in the Carribean. The mermaid is actually this young, innocent peasant girl and the prince is this spoiled, rich light-skinned bourgeois landowner's son or something. The rich boy has an accident and the poor girl saves him and falls in love with him and follows him into the city, but he's already engaged to someone else, so he kind of rejects her. And it's really beautiful. You should come watch tonight. Sam's playing the male lead. Rachel's playing the lead, Ti Moune. "

Santana rolls her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? Also, I can't. Busy."

"Okay, but if you're free after, you should come to the party. I'm sure everyone would love to see you."

"I'm sure they will."

Their conversation is interrupted by a sudden silence, followed by Rachel suddenly singing a song from the musical,

"_Sure as a wave  
Needs to be near the shore  
_

As Sam comes up to her and they sing the rest of the lyrics, she sits, transfixed listening to the song.

_You are the one  
I was intended for….  
_

She has forgotten how beautiful Rachel's voice can get, no matter how annoying she is. And as she stands there, in front of Sam, script on hand, making those funny faces she does when she sings, Santana has to grudgingly admit her daughter is right – Rachel _is_ pretty. In fact, she's _beautiful_. She shakes her head. What is she thinking? Rachel is _not_ pretty. Not pretty at all. She shudders at the thought she just entertained in her mind._  
_

_Deep in your eyes  
I saw the god's design  
_

When she sings the next two lines of the song, Rachel steps to center stage, looking at the imaginary audience, where Santana and the others are. Everyone stops what they are doing as she continues to sing. There is something about Rachel Berry when she sings. She owns the stage. She owns the space. No stage is too small, no song too obscure, for Rachel Berry. She can make even the most mundane, sound beautiful. And right now, as her eyes sweep the room and settle on Santana's, she fastens her gaze on her and never looks away.

_Now my life is forever yours  
And you are mine…"_

There is something hypnotic about Rachel's voice as she sings this line, and only this line, and Santana stares, and stares, and wonders, and finds that long after Rachel's has finished the song, Santana's heart is pounding. Looking at Rachel, Santana feels a long buried song begin to catch fire, glimmer and grow.

Santana begins to grow afraid.

* * *

Suzie seems to think Rachel is amazing, too. She stares at her from where she is sitting, watches Rachel sing the song with all her heart, mouth open in wonder and amazement.

When the song is finished, she sees Suzie bound up to Rachel, sees Rachel bend down to listen to her daughter whisper something to her ear, sees Rachel laugh a tinkly laugh (dammit, Rachel did not sound this sophisticated or together in high school). She says something that Santana guesses is a thank you, before offering her hand and Suzie takes it. They whisper to each other some more, before Suzie grabs Rachel's hand and purposefully marches towards the general direction of Santana. Santana looks at them, wary.

"Hey mom," Suzie says. "I made a new friend, meet Rachel."

"I know Rachel. Honey, we went to high school together. In fact, I spent most of my high school Glee Club days being stuck with her, mindlessly harmonizing in the background as she sang most, if not all, the solos in high school."

Rachel chooses to ignore this and Suzie continues, "Yeah, I asked her if she's free for lunch and she says she is and can we have her over for lunch?"

"What? No," Santana says, before she can stop herself.

Rachel shakes her head. "I'm sorry. It was impossible to resist a pretty eight-year-old asking you out like this."

Santana looks at her coldly. "Try harder."

"I'm seven."

"Sorry," Rachel says. To Santana or Suzie, Santana is not really sure.

"And anyway, the house is full. And I don't know if they've got room for one more. And anyway, there isn't any vegan food at home," Santana points out.

"Vegan? What's that?" Suzie asks.

"Your new friend here does not eat, or partake of anything with a face," Santana says with satisfaction, leaning back on the chair.

"I don't understand," Suzie says.

"I don't eat meat, sweetie, or fish, or anything like that," Rachel explains.

"Yes, honey, that's why she's always uptight like that," Santana adds with a smirk.

Tina tries hard not to smile.

"Well, that's weird. That you don't eat all that stuff. Don't you feel like you're missing out on something?"

Rachel shrugs. "No, not really," Rachel answers patiently.

"Oh. That's nice. A bit sad. But nice. Anyway, it doesn't matter. You can still come to lunch, right?"

Santana sighs, "Suzie, we can't…"

"No, it's fine," Rachel interrupts, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. "I'm kind of busy anyway, what with the musical and everything," Rachel says.

"See," Santana says triumphantly.

Suzie looks disappointed. "Okay. But you totally must give me your number, so I can call you."

"Suzie," Santana says, helplessly, not relishing the idea of paying a phone bill that includes regular phone calls between her daughter and Rachel Berry.

Rachel does not notice Santana's apprehension and instead says "okay," and recites her phone number from memory as Suzie whips out her phone and puts it in her phonebook.

"Thanks, Rachel." Suzie says. "I think you're awesome. And you have an awesome voice. And we're going to be friends forever."

Suzie makes a move to leave, but she turns around, cocks her head and says, "And I wasn't asking you out for me. I was asking you out for mom."

Rachel and Santana stop. Rachel blushes. Santana's face starts to burn. She tries to make a motion to Suzie to keep silent, but Suzie seems to think Santana is encouraging her to speak more, "Yeah. Mom won't say it, but I think she thinks you're hot. She looks at you funny. She doesn't give Aunt Quinn or any of the others that look. She hasn't been on a date since forever, so maybe you can go out on a date or something. Uncle Carlos said so. He thinks it's sad. I think it's sad, too."

Santana literally wants to disappear off the face of the earth. She will _kill_ Carlos when she sees him. Tina is muffling her chuckles. Santana whips around and glares at her.

Tina stops chuckling, looks down at what she is doing.

Santana turns back to Suzie and manages to say, "Honey, you can't just randomly go around asking people out on dates for me."

Suzie looks up at her, pouts, cocks her head to the side, asks, "Well, why not?"

"Because…" she says, looking for an answer a seven-year-old might find reasonable and coming up with nothing, says, "You can't."

"Well, why?" Suzie asks again, eyes intent on Santana, the expression so much like Santana's that it looks eerily like looking at herself. Suzie looks at her mother, then at Rachel, then back at her mother. "I don't understand. It's just a date, mom. It's just two people agreeing to eat at the same table, right? There's nothing wrong with that."

Rachel and Santana are silent. It is hard, Santana remembers, to argue with a seven-year-old. Years of law school training has got nothing on a seven-year-old's logic.

"I mean, I think mom usually likes blondes," Suzie continues, turning to Rachel. "Tall blondes. Like mommy. But Aunt Quinn isn't single. You're shorter, but I think mom can work around that. And..and… you're nice. You don't yell. You sing. Everything you say sounds like singing."

Suzie then skips to a group of people rehearsing in the corner, leaving them both awkward and silent.

Santana does not know what to say. Speechless, she looks down at her lap, concentrates on an imaginary piece of lint that has magically appeared on her pants. She can still feel her ears burning. Rachel does not seem to know what to say, too, standing there awkwardly. A tense silence ensues. Finally, Rachel clears her throat.

Then, Rachel laughs. It's a lovely laugh. It is laughter made of pure melody and delight. It is laughter made of song.

_Shit_, Santana thinks, catching herself in time when she realizes she has just appreciated Rachel Berry's laughter. _God, what is wrong with me?_ Santana asks herself. She has to admit it has been three years, but, it must be really bad, if she finds Rachel freaking Berry mildly attractive.

Left alone with Rachel Berry, Santana does not know what to do. She tries to avert her gaze, but Rachel lingers, unsure, smiling uncertainly at Santana, before finally saying, "You have a lovely daughter."

"Thanks," Santana says, trying to look indifferent, face still burning.

"You should bring her to the play later," Rachel says.

Santana shrugs. "Yeah, sure."

"How long are you here for?" Rachel suddenly asks.

Santana narrows her eyes. She resists the urge to scream, because Rachel has probably asked this in one of their encounters at the grocery or at the Glee Club party, and says, "Dunno. But we'll probably head back right after New Year. Work and all. And Suzie has school, so."

"Oh," Rachel says. "Well, some of the kids at the shelter are coming to the house tomorrow, you and Suzie should come by, hang out or something. I'm sure the kids would love it. There will be clowns and donkeys and a trampoline and…"

"Ugh. God, Berry, why don't you just make your own spawn so you can have somebody to traumatize and hate you for the rest of your life? Leave my kid alone."

Rachel stops, surprised, speechless. She only nods, purses her lips and walks away. Santana tries to ignore it, but there is that same hurt look on Rachel's face again, like that time in the grocery store – the look of a person who has been excluded one too many times in games, parties, dinners, and the look of someone who has heard mean words too many times to count. Santana tries to quell the guilt and irritation in the pit of her stomach.

Later, Santana wonders why Rachel Berry would look so offended by this one statement she says to her. Surely Santana has said worse things. She wonders why she should care _at all_.

It is only later that she finds out that Rachel Berry cannot have children, that it is rumored that her husband divorced her for this very reason.

Santana feels like an idiot.

* * *

**_Author's note: Thanks for reading. Review away. Next chapter coming up. Cannot thank DragonsWillFly enough for this._**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's note: This is for Ray Bradbury. Again, be warned, this is not for the faint of heart. **_

* * *

_'What would you do if you had all the time in the world?'_ The words echo in Santana's ears.

_"It's okay, you know," Brittany says._

_"What is?" Santana says, trying to make her words heard above the sound of surf and breeze._

_They are on the beach, the soft afternoon sun on their skins. Brittany is bundled up snugly in shirt, sweatshirt, pants, scarf, wool knit cap, coat, as she sits on the sand, letting the wind whip her clothes against her. They have moved back to Lima, Ohio. Brittany has decided she has had enough of the treatments, the headaches, the dizziness, the nausea and just wants to go home. Just wants to be with Suzie and Santana and her family. But Brittany wanted to see the sea, maybe for the last time, and so she drives her over to the beach. Brittany shivers. Santana slides over and holds her, tries to keep her warm._

_"If you start dating when I'm..." Brittany pauses, carefully, "gone."_

_The last word is said in a whisper, Brittany knowing Santana hates discussing this. Brittany had once told Santana, in a fit of pain, nausea, irritation, and anger, that Santana can always leave her. No one is forcing her to stay. No one asked her to stay. Brittany is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Santana looks at Brittany then, looks at her with a hurt expression, like she has just plunged a knife in Santana's guts. And Santana feels her own rage bubbling to the surface then, and she is angry. Really, really angry, because Brittany is sick and she can't make her feel better, can't make it go away and she feels helpless and useless and she breaks down and cries. She crumples in a heap on the floor and sobs, "You can't mean that. You don't mean that…" Brittany feels sorry for her then and comes to her and tells her she is sorry. Holds her and rocks her gently until the sobs die down. _

_Santana is quiet now._

_"I mean, you're hot," Brittany says, matter-of-factly. "I doubt you'll stay on the market for long."_

_Santana laughs softly. "Thanks. I think."_

_Brittany puts her arm on Santana's waist, kisses her on the head, squeezes her. "I mean it."_

_"What? That I'm hot?" Santana jokes._

_"San…"_

_Santana grows serious, smiles, leaning towards Brittany, resting her head on Brittany's shoulder. "Britt…" she says, stops, feels a lump on her throat, feels tears welling up in her eyes._

_Brittany seems to sense this, and she turns towards Santana, pulls Santana's face gently towards her with the cold tips of her fingers, and looks at her with her clear blue eyes, before she kisses her, gently, tenderly, like they have all the time in the world._

_Santana tries, really tries, not to cry, and she closes her eyes, enjoys the softness of Brittany's lips on her own, enjoys the warmth and sweetness of Brittany's breath on her own, inhales the scent of strawberries and sunshine on her skin, but when Brittany pulls away, the tears come unbidden, flows through her face. Brittany's image blurs as the tears cloud her vision._

_"Baby," Brittany coos, rocking her gently. "Baby, please don't cry."_

* * *

Santana lies to Tina, of course. She knows "Once on this Island." Has seen it once when she goes to see Rachel when she secretly sneaks off to New York one random weekend, in the middle of her semester in college.

Alone, without friends or a place to stay in, she finds herself calling Rachel Berry. Rachel _Berry_, of all people.

Rachel has given Santana her number in New York and has told her, before she left that she can call Rachel anytime.

When she calls Rachel up, Rachel is really excited, is actually glad to hear from her, offers to pick her up, to let her stay at her apartment. Santana is glad for this. Glad that Rachel does not ask questions, about why Santana is suddenly going to New York, when she knows Santana is studying pre-law in Kentucky, about why Santana tells Rachel not to tell Brittany or any of their other friends. Rachel fetches Santana at the train station, brings her to her apartment, takes her to one of the restaurants she knows, and brings her to the play, "Once on this Island" that is showing off-Broadway.

After the play, they head to a bar.

They sit awkwardly across each other, sipping their drinks, as the music pounds and the lights blink and the air pulsates with unspoken hopes and dreams and desires.

Santana breaks the silence, asks her how she is.

Rachel is quiet, runs her finger over the lip of her glass, shrugs. She looks up and Santana sees how tired she is now, how different she is.

Rachel says she is fine. She is silent again, then abruptly says, "New York isn't what I thought it was. It's just so different…Just…"

And the words tumble forth out of Rachel's mouth. Rachel tells her everything. She tells her about her life in New York and in NYADA. She tells her about the long hours of the punishing curriculum, the accolades she expected to receive but never does and the sometimes devastating critiques. She tells her of the depressing auditions, the egomaniacal lecturers, the even more egomaniacal directors, the diva-esque classmates, the few enemies she's managed to make, the even fewer friends she now has. She has been here a few months now and she still has not gotten a lead in any play or concert in school.

"And today, while I was standing at the curb, this stupid cab ran over a puddle and splashed mud all over me, and I had to go and shower but the hot shower wasn't working again and the hairdryer died on me and my roommate is horrible and keeps taking all my stuff and I almost got mugged last week…and I never thought I'd say this but I miss Ohio, I miss Finn, I miss Glee Club and I miss high school…I mean…I saw you today and I think, my god, I even miss _you_! And I _hated_ you in high school!"

Her voice trails off, as she ends with realizing that New York is not what it is supposed to be and that she just wants to go home. She ends her rant and drinks her margarita angrily, annoyed at her outburst. Santana listens, takes a sip of her drink. She is quiet. There is something about a Rachel ranting about the injustice of being an unappreciated ingénue that's mildly endearing.

They look at each other then. And suddenly Santana laughs. Rachel looks at her, confused. Santana raises her hand, moves to apologize but just laughs some more. Rachel does not think it is funny, but then, sitting there, realizing she is with Santana Lopez, of all people, she laughs as well. And suddenly everything does not seem so bad after all.

* * *

Solace.

That was what it was. Comfort. Rachel is alone and lonely, missing Ohio and everything it stood for: her childhood, a long-lost innocence, a past life. Santana is confused and afraid, uncertain of her future, of her decisions. And thus it was that Rachel and Santana find themselves encouraging each other, consoling each other. Santana convinces Rachel not to go back home to Lima, just yet and give it one more shot. Santana is surprised when she finds herself praising Rachel, telling her she is the most talented girl she has ever met and giving up on New York would mean giving up on her dreams and she shouldn't. And Rachel tells Santana she is a bad ass, and bad asses pull it together and never give up. Rachel tells her she has always admired Santana because Santana is smart and talented and has a killer alto voice. Rachel tells her not to freak out about college. Actually _pacifies_ Santana, when she starts her crying after drinking too much. She actually _convinces _Santana not to drop out. She tells Santana a career in law would be awesome. She tells her New York isn't what it's all cracked up to be anyway. She tells Santana she'll get through the difficulties of having a long distance relationship with Brittany. They have always been the strongest couple in Glee Club. They have gotten through worst times before, they'll certainly as hell get through this one now.

They talk well into the night, oblivious to the people around them. She had liked this Rachel – she was not the Rachel of high school, selfish, self-absorbed, self-involved, self-centered. She was actually _listening_ to Santana's woes and _not_ making it about herself. She was giving Santana _advice_, of all things. She was _encouraging_ Santana. Santana looks at her and realizes Rachel is becoming the woman she could actually become, mature, likeable, sophisticated, _together_. Santana does not know when at any point in their interaction they started making out but she vaguely remembers kissing Rachel, and is surprised when Rachel kisses back. One thing leads to another and everything else becomes a blur.

* * *

The next morning she finds herself waking up to a hangover…and Rachel's smooth, naked half-covered body beneath white sheets, sleeping fitfully beside her own equally naked body.

Santana is confused at first. Then, as understanding dawns on her, she starts to feel ashamed and ultimately horrified to realize what has happened. _This can't be happening_, she tells herself. She slowly gets up, careful not to wake Rachel up. She carefully picks up articles of her clothing strewn all over the room, her jacket on the dresser, jeans on the floor, blouse on the stereo, bra on the bedside table. She finds her underwear somewhere beneath the covers. She catches her reflection on the mirror, sees a hickey on her neck, sees the confirmation that she _did_ in fact, sleep with Rachel. A blush crawls up her neck. She winces. Rachel saw her _naked_. Santana saw Rachel _Berry_ naked. She vaguely remembers the pressure of Rachel's lips against her lips, her skin, her being. Santana blushes even more. She dresses. She tries to fight down the panic.

She only has a vague recollection of last night's events, is mortified to realize she cannot remember anything as clearly.

Santana runs a hand on her unruly, wavy dark hair, fights the nausea and the headache pounding against her skull. She looks for her bag, finds it on the floor by the door, finds her shoes there. She tiptoes to the door, picks up her bag, slips her feet into her shoes, noiselessly opens the door and steps out.

She leaves for the next train back to Kentucky and vows never to think about it ever again. _This never happened_, she keeps telling herself. This never _fucking_ happened, she repeats to herself.

* * *

Rachel calls her that day, all chipper and cheer, wonders where she is, and Santana feels awkward, embarrassed, looks out distractedly at the blur of trees and road and sky that the train passes by.

"What do you want, Rachel?" Santana asks.

"Um, nothing," Rachel says on the other line. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Where are you?"

"I'm fine," Santana says, flatly, trying to sound indifferent, nonchalant. "I'm on my way back."

This is met by silence. Santana wants, really wants, to hang up the phone, but she doesn't.

"Oh, okay," Rachel finally says. "I thought maybe you'd stay a couple more days."

Santana rolls her eyes. The venom comes out before she can stop herself. "And do _what_ exactly? Eat out? Talk? _Cuddle?_ What?"

"Santana, that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?" Santana asks.

"Nothing," Rachel says on the other line. "Just…maybe talk…or something. I mean I'm cool with it, but Brittany and you… should we talk about this? I mean, last night was…"

"An _accident_," Santana quickly supplies. "It was an accident, okay? We were drunk and we didn't know what we were doing and _nothing_ happened, okay? Did you actually think there was going to be _more_ to this? That I'd leave _Brittany_ for _you_?"

"Santana…"

"_Nothing_ happened," Santana reiterates, through gritted teeth.

Rachel must sense Santana's warning tone even through the phone because she does not say anything.

"And if you say anything to Britt, I swear to god, I'll…"

"Don't worry, I won't," Rachel quickly says. "It was an accident, as you said. I'm sorry it happened."

Rachel says goodbye and hangs up.

Santana does not see Rachel again.

* * *

Rachel tries a couple more times to talk to Santana. But Santana is curt, distant, awkward, and always sounds like she would rather be talking to someone else than Rachel. Rachel takes the hint, and takes it well. She stops. They never see or talk to each other ever again.

* * *

Santana had meant to tell Brittany. Really, really meant to tell her. Meant to tell her it was just the one time, that it was an accident, that she had not meant for it to happen. That both she and Rachel were drunk and lonely and were seeking solace.

And there were opportunities when she should have told her, but didn't. That time when she told her she had sneaked off to New York and Brittany asked her if she saw Rachel. That time she proposed to her. That time before the wedding. That time before they decided to have a baby. That time when Brittany got pregnant.

But every time Brittany looks at her, with those trusting blue eyes, Santana loses courage. Cannot bring herself to tell Brittany. Is ashamed to tell Brittany.

And then Brittany got sick and it was too late.

* * *

_"Santana?" Quinn asks, uncertain, when she sees Santana leaning on the wall outside the door to Brittany's room. The door is closed._

_"Huh? What?" Santana asks, when Quinn says her name again._

_"Are you okay?" Quinn asks._

_Santana looks at Quinn, says nothing, swallows once, twice. Her dark, brown eyes empty and dull._

_The lights overhead are suddenly too harsh, the walls too bright, the place too suffocating._

_Santana looks at Quinn and Quinn swallows, suddenly understanding what has happened, can understand it from the hushed tones of the doctors and nurses that have suddenly appeared all around them. Grief overcomes Quinn. Quinn tries to keep the tears from welling up, steps forward and holds her. Santana bursts into silent tears then . Santana sobs into her shirt, sobs like her world has shattered and can never be put back together again._

* * *

_What would you do if you had all the time in the world?_

Santana sometimes stands in front of Rachel's house, if only to talk to her, to explain, why she had done what she had done all those years ago, why she was silent, why she didn't tell her about Brittany and Suzie and everything else. She wants to apologize. For what she has done. Now that she has all the time in the world, waking up to the same day over and over again, she can.

But all she can do is stand in the snow, in front of Rachel's house, for long moments at a time, uncertain, apprehensive, not knowing what to do.

And then Santana bows her head and walks away into the cold of night.

She knows she can't really talk to Rachel.

She is too consumed with guilt. Guilt about what happened. Guilt about not telling Brittany what had happened. Guilt about everything.

She cannot forgive herself for that betrayal. Cannot forgive herself for everything. Cannot forgive herself for feeling something she should not have felt. Cannot let go.

It feels like she is forgetting Brittany, forgetting her memory, forgetting what she has been through. What they had both been through.

Santana cannot betray Brittany again. Cannot betray her memory again.

* * *

The first time she tries to kill herself, in order to get out of this, this waking up to the same day over and over again, Santana fails and fails miserably.

But she tries anyway, because she cannot take this anymore. To wake up over and over again to the same day. To see, of all things, Rachel again and again on the same day every day. If this is her punishment for cheating on Brittany and for not having the guts to tell Brittany she had cheated on her with Rachel, then she deserves it. If this is her punishment for that brief moment in the distant past when she felt a spark with Rachel then, a brief spark, of something else, something with a hint of fire, for even _thinking_ of the possibility that she could be happy with someone other than Brittany, then she deserves it.

If this is her punishment for what she has done, then better death, than waking up to this over and over again.

She tries to run her car down a ravine. And she sees how it plummets down the bottom of the ravine, feels the chasm rise up to meet her, that there is a grey sky, river, ground, swirling around her, is dimly aware that there is an explosion, and a blissful nothingness after…

But she wakes up and she is right back on her bed, with "All I Want for Christmas" playing on the radio, and a dj informing her it is 40 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and a child bounding up and down the bed.

She tries to drive the car over the train tracks, feels, rather than sees the train smash against the side of the car, feels the sickening crunch of the car as it is crushed against the nose of the train. And a darkness claims her.

But she wakes up and it is the same day again.

She tries jumping off a building, feels the ground rush up to meet her, wakes up again on her bed...

* * *

Santana is tense, nervous, as she grips the handlebar of the motorbike. The helmet on her head is too big, the motorbike seems too big, the terrain she is about to jump over now is too treacherous. As she hurtles towards down the dirt road, she feels the fear overtake her, feels her heart pound against her ribcage, feels like it will explode, but she feels her heart soar, too, when she feels the bike fly across the road, outside her body, and into the sky, and even though every time she does motocross, she always ends up with bruises and at least one broken arm or leg that magically heals when she wakes the next day. She loves it. She cannot get enough of it. Suddenly understands why Brittany loves it, even though Santana has repeatedly told her to stop doing it.

Brittany loves it because it makes her feel alive.

Flying in the air, motorbike beneath her, and sun and sky and ground swirling around her, Santana suddenly understands this.

Santana finally suddenly understands what it means to be _alive_.

* * *

"_I figured it out, you know," Brittany says, out of the blue, as Santana sits beside her on the bed, exhausted from another day at work._

_There are bills to pay and a wife to take care of and a daughter to raise and Santana is tired and sleepy but she looks up, manages to smile, looks at her wife with love, raises her brows in question, and asks, "What?"_

"_Death," Brittany says matter-of-factly. _

_Santana hates it when Brittany is being morbid like this. When Brittany once discussed with her the merits and demerits of cremation over that of being buried beneath the earth, and discussed what kind of service she wanted, Santana freaked out. But right now, as Brittany speaks, there is none of the rage, the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty. This Brittany, exhausted and thin and barely recognizable as the woman Santana has loved all her life, seems happy, seems to have come to terms with everything, is at perfect peace with herself and the world. Santana envies her this. _

"_Baby, I think death will be like a lobster," Brittany says._

"_Britt, I don't know what that means," Santana patiently says, knowing it must be the chemicals and the radiation doing this to Brittany. Earlier, Brittany had asked her if she thought dolphins went to heaven, or if there is a version of heaven that is only for dolphins. Santana does not know, but Brittany does not seem to mind it. There is something that has developed between them through all this – a strong bond, an easy camaraderie, a love, like that of two people who have weathered a storm, a war and have come out on the other side stronger, tougher, wiser. _

"_Have you tried dandelion wine?" Brittany asks. _

"_No," Santana answers, wondering where Brittany is going with this. _

"_Me neither," Brittany says. "It's the title of this book by this guy, Ray Bradbury. I thought it was a weird title for a book. How can you have wine made of dandelion? I thought it was strange. And so I read it. I liked it. For the most part. I understood most of it, but I couldn't help feeling like I'm missing something. But this old lady, she's a character in the book? She's 90, and she knows she's going to die someday, and she says, it's okay, she accepts it, because, she thinks death is like a lobster. She tried lobster once, because everyone thought she had to try it, because if she doesn't, then she's missed half of her life and she should at least try it at least once in her life so she can be whole and she did. And she says, it wasn't a big deal, finally, when she tried it. And she realizes, death will be like that. Death will be like a lobster. It's not going to be a big deal. And I'm telling you this now, because you have that funny look on your face, and I want you to know it's okay, okay? I'm not scared, baby."_

"_Britt…"_

"_I'm the tree. In the middle of the forest. And one day, someday, maybe soon, I'll fall. But it's okay. Because you were there to hear me fall. I existed. I loved you and you loved me back and you were amazing and you gave me Suzie and we've made an amazing life together. I'm ready. I'm ready for anything. I love you , I always have, I always will, nothing's going to change that. I have no regrets. You shouldn't have any either. And when I'm gone, baby, you have to let me go. You need to let me go."_

_Santana looks at her, is surprised at what she has said. She does not know what to say. Tries to open her mouth, but no words come. A lump forms in her throat. _

_She tries to speak but instead stands up and scrambles to hug Brittany. She kisses her over and over again, tells her for the millionth time how much she loves her._

* * *

**_Author's note: Thank you dear readers, for staying with me on this. Only a few chapters now. Review away. _**

**_And just want to say, this is probably my favorite chapter. Because in my mind, I like to think Brittany is secretly a dolphin-loving, bi-corn philosopher._ :-)**

**_Thanks as always, to DragonsWillFly, for the insight and useful suggestions. It's been awesome having you as my beta._ :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's note: Dear readers, we are almost done with this journey. This is the second to the last chapter of this story. Thanks for your patience!**_

* * *

_Santana stands in ankle deep snow in front of Brittany's grave. It is afternoon of yet another endless, gloomy December 17, but it feels like dusk. She shivers in her coat. Her teeth are chattering. Damn this Ohio winter! She thinks this weather insufferable. As she tries vainly to shield herself from the cold, Santana thinks having to wake up to this kind of blasted weather over and over again, is fucking annoying._

_Santana has not been to her grave since she died. _

_Now, she kneels in front of Brittany's headstone, brushes the snow off of the top of the stone, and on the bottom. She traces Brittany's name on the stone, "Brittany S. Pierce, trusty friend, faithful daughter, loyal sister, loving wife, devoted mother."_

_Brittany had rolled her eyes at that. Santana had suggested what to put on the gravestone. _

"_You and your _feelings_," Brittany had told her, rolling her eyes. "I sound like some kind of dog. It sounds like something you'd put on Lassie's _grave._"_

_Santana traces the dolphins on the head of the grave, and the ducks at the bottom. There was much discussion about the stone, and Brittany had decided on it, thought it was nice. She had insisted on being buried, because it would be nice, she thinks, to eventually become one with the earth. And because, as she told Santana, "If we choose cremation, you'll probably put my ashes in the living room, and you'll never get laid. _Ever._"_

_Santana smiles, remembering Brittany. When she remembers Brittany these days, it is not with the aching pain of emptiness, but with fondness, the warmth of love – for the woman Santana has loved and will always love. _

"_Hey, baby," Santana says softly, into the cold and snow. "Morning. I'm sorry I haven't been here in a while."_

_The silence greets Santana's words. She leans over, feels the smooth slab of stone against her forehead. Her heart is pounding. _

"_I've missed you baby," she says. "I've missed you so much."_

_It has been three years since she has visited this grave. Three years since she came back to Lima, Ohio. Three years since she has come to see friends and family. Three years of alcohol-laced nights to dull the pain. Three years of bearing the guilt, the pain, the burden of remembering, of holding on. _

"_I woke up early today," she tells her, "In fact I've been waking up early to the same day every day. It's really bizarre. Sam says there's something I'm supposed to do to get out of it. I have this feeling it has something to do with us. I'm not sure what it is, but…"_

_Santana sighs._

_She closes her eyes, tells Brittany's headstone how work is at the environmental and human rights law firm she works for, how Brittany's and her parents are, how Suzie is...Suzie – who is fast growing up to be the dancer Brittany used to be, fluid and beautiful and all poetry in motion. Suzie – who gets good grades in school, and gold stars and parts in plays and school concerts "like she's Rachel freaking Berry…"_

_Santana's heart twitches at the mention of the name, is nervous. She swallows. _

"_It's been a good day today. I've been very busy. I've been catching up with people, with friends. I went to visit Quinn today. I haven't seen her since you've been gone. You're right, of course, friends are important. But, after you…I just couldn't face her. I couldn't face anyone, really. It's been very hard, being without you…"_

* * *

She wants to knock on the door, but finds she can't, is nervous, afraid Quinn would not take too kindly to an early morning call like this.

But if she continues to stand here a bit longer, doing nothing, she will freeze to death.

So she finally reaches for the doorbell with cold, shivering fingers.

The bell chimes. Santana's heart begins to pound. Santana gulps, feels cold, feels herself swallow.

No one answers.

No one is home.

Santana is relieved. She makes a move to walk way.

But finally, footsteps come to the door, and a sleepy Quinn is revealed. Quinn squints against the light, shivers against the cold.

"Hey." If Quinn is surprised, she does not show it, but only smiles and nods and lets Santana in like she has been coming over to the house unexpected on early wintry mornings all the time. "Morning. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Santana looks at her, uncertain of what to say. Quinn looks back at her, giving her an encouraging smile. They share a brief uncomfortable silence.

Santana steps into Quinn's arms and they hug each other. They stand there, on the hallway, for what seems like hours.

Santana then breaks away from the hug, tries hard not to cry, and says, "I never thanked you for what you did for us, for Brittany, Suzie, me."

"You didn't have to," Quinn says, softly. "You know you never have to."

"Okay," Santana says, sniffling. "I've missed you, I'm sorry about…you know, not keeping in touch."

Quinn smiles, rolls her eyes, waves the words away. "God, you and your feelings! You can be such a drama queen!"

Santana smiles, apologetically.

Quinn grins. "It's okay. I've missed you, too, Santana."

"You want some coffee?" Quinn offers. "There's a pot brewing in the kitchen."

"Yeah, I'd like that. I can totally use a cup of coffee."

"Good."

* * *

"_I went to McKinley after. Just to visit people. Mr. Schuester and the Glee Club are doing some kind of fundraiser for the homeless and the kids. Like we used to do when we were in high school. I think you'd like it."_

* * *

Mr. Figgins registers shock when Santana moves to hug him after he finishes his monologue on bombing toilets, cleaning materials, cleaning off bodily fluids off of school property. This is the nth time she has run into him. Suzie has come along with her. She introduces Suzie to Mr. Figgins, and Mr. Figgins' comment, that Suzie is lovely, prompts Santana to hug him.

Mr. Figgins smells like moth balls and mold and breath mints and old age but Figgins smiles and taps her shoulders awkwardly, says, "There, there, it's good to see you, too, Ms. Lopez. Please step away from my person now."

Santana laughs and does what she is told.

Mr. Figgins nods to them, mutters a Merry Christmas, before moving off to his car.

* * *

Santana and Suzie enter the halls of McKinley. Suzie's shoes squeak through the halls, as she skips and hops and dances through it, even as Santana's boots echo hollowly through it. McKinley's hallways don't seem to give her the same kind of pain it used to before, the few times she's found herself in these hallways the many other December 17s before. That pain associated with memories of her times here with Brittany. Santana's hands hurt from the bags of groceries she is holding.

They proceed to the Glee Club Room, where Mr. Schuester, Rachel, Tina, Sam, Kurt and a handful of Glee Club kids are rehearsing for the musical.

Mr. Schuester is as shocked as Mr. Figgins is when, as she enters the Glee Club room, she drops her bags of groceries and makes a sudden move to hug him, too, thanking him for visiting Brittany at the hospital, that one time. He does not know how much that meant to her, to Brittany, knowing Mr. Schuester took time off from his busy, vest-infested schedule to see them. Mr. Schuester laughs at the joke, smiles, and says, "It's good to see you, too, Santana."

When Santana makes a move to hug Sam, then Tina and finally Kurt, Kurt says, "Oh, my god, Santana growing a heart days before Christmas. The end of the world is nigh!"

"Shut up," Santana says, as she continues to hug him. "Before I throw you into the dumpster."

"_Aaaaand_ she's back," Sam says, chuckling.

Suzie tugs at her sleeve and Santana pulls her towards herself, and introduces her to everyone. "By the way, you remember my daughter, Suzie?"

Everyone crowds around the girl, starts to fuss on her. Santana smiles. She has missed her friends.

* * *

"_I have something else to tell you, too, baby," Santana whispers._

"_Baby, I haven't totally been honest with you. I…I slept with someone. _

_I slept with someone and it wasn't you."_

* * *

Rachel, curious about the commotion happening where Sam, Tina and Kurt have converged on Santana and Suzie, wanders over, suspicious and asks, "Santana? What are you doing here?"

Santana, nervous, smiles, "Nice to see you, too, Rachel."

Rachel knits her brows, concern on her face. "You okay?"

Santana looks at her, likes how her eyes have softened when she asks the question, worry on her face. Santana thinks she might like having that look directed at her all the time. "Yeah, why?"

"You called me Rachel," Rachel says.

"Yeah, so?"

"So you never call me that," Rachel points out. "You usually call me Berry or man-hands, dwarf, hobbit or any variation of the term thereof for vertically challenged people."

Santana grows a bit irritated as Rachel chooses this time to talk about the many creative ways in which she has called Rachel.

As Rachel continues to look at her, curious, she gestures to the bags nears Santana's feet, "What are those?"

From the many times Santana has woken up on the same day, every day, she already knows Rachel goes to the grocery store that day to buy refreshments, supplies and assorted accoutrements for the play. Santana decides to buy them herself. She has all the time in the world now, so she might as well do it herself.

"Refreshments for your Glee kids," she says, feeling a bit shy. She offers the bags to Rachel. "Some supplies you need, glue, sequins, ribbons, safety pins, bobby pins, stapler, staple wire, scotch tape, duct tape…" her voice trails off as she hands the rest of the bags to Rachel with a shrug. She has committed the list to memory. She's heard Rachel spout it enough during those times she sees her during the same day.

Rachel stares at her, open-mouthed, as she accepts the bags. "Okay…This is getting weird. You sure you're okay?"

Santana tries to avoid Rachel's gaze and shrugs. "No. Why does everyone think the worst when I do something like this?" Santana rolls her eyes. "You're welcome by the way. I think I just bought you guys more time to do other stuff. For your show and stuff. Anyway, I heard you need more hands? Maybe a few voices, give the group a fuller sound?"

Rachel stares at her. "Since when are you interested in these things?"

"If you recall, Rachel, I used to help with our Glee Club fundraisers when we were in high school so it's not like it's a big deal." Santana shrugs, tries not to notice how beautiful Rachel seems to be this morning. "I mean, I'm a lawyer. For human rights and stuff. Of course I'm interested in this. Anyway, are you saying you don't need my help?"

Rachel wonders how she finds out about all these. But she shakes away the thought and says, thoughtfully, "We actually _do_ need more people."

"There you go," Santana says.

Rachel smiles in spite of herself. "Okay fine, whatever. But if you start bullying the kids you're out."

"Fine," Santana says, grinning.

* * *

_"Remember that time when I went to New York? That first semester in college? I hadn't really told you then why I went. I was young then, baby. I was confused. I was afraid. I was questioning my decisions. I was questioning us. I was questioning everything. I didn't know if college was what I really wanted. I was on the verge of dropping out, dropping everything, just going to New York and never looking back. I was miserable. College sucked. And you were still in Lima. And I didn't have any friends and it was all awful._

_So I went to New York, that one weekend, just to clear my head, decide what I wanted to do. I didn't want to tell you all this, because we'd already decided on what we were going to do, and I didn't want to disappoint you. We'd already mapped out what we were going to do for the rest of your lives! I didn't know at the time if that was what I wanted. _

_Anyway, I kind of just didn't stay with any friend. _

_I stayed with…Rachel._

_I…slept with…Rachel."_

* * *

Mr. Schuester comes towards them, mobile phone in hand, thoughtful and puzzled. "I just got off the phone, there's a huge donation coming our way from some big corporation or other from California," he says. He looks at Santana, "Says some bad ass lawyer strong armed them into giving a substantial amount of money for our little fundraiser."

Santana smiles.

Suzie wonders over and watches the exchange between the adults.

Mr. Schuester continues to look at Santana, perplexed. "Did you do this, Santana?"

Santana shrugs. "Heard you needed a bit more money for that new building you're raising for. That's what it's for, right? Thought I'd help." When everyone stands, shocked, she quickly adds, "It's all legit, don't worry about it. It's not a big deal."

"Oh, was that why you were screaming on the phone earlier?" Suzie asks.

Santana raises her brows and smiles.

"She's really cool like that, my mom," Suzie informs Mr. Schuester and the others. "She likes to help people. It's her job. One time, I saw her kick someone in the nuts because he was being a bad person about the dolphins. "

Everyone falls eerily silent when she says this. Kurt looks at Santana, horrified. Santana shakes her head, sheepishly says, "It's not as bad it sounds."

"I mean, I wasn't supposed to see that, but I didn't have a babysitter that time, so mom took me to work and I saw it," Suzie says. "You don't mess with my mom. Or she'll go all Lima Heights on your ass!"

Santana blushes furiously.

Everyone stands around awkwardly, not knowing what to say before Kurt says what everyone else is thinking. "Well, that was horrifying, catching a glimpse of your exceptional parenting skills."

"Yeah, Satan's spawn lives!" Sam says, smirking. "Nice to know you're doing your part to scar kids for life."

Santana glares at both of them.

"Sorry," Sam mutters.

Rachel smiles. "I think it's cute. I think your daughter is cute."

Santana looks at her, and smiles in spite of herself. "Thanks."

"Figures," Kurt says, "Rachel likes the one kid that's waiting to grow up to be exactly like her. Annoying and insufferable."

"Don't say that," Santana says. "That's like, sealing my child's fate to a lifetime of never getting laid and always being bullied!"

"Hey!" Rachel says.

"Sorry. I was kidding," Santana says.

"Anyway, break time's over everyone, back to work!" Rachel announces.

Everyone groans as they head back to chairs and corners for their assigned tasks.

* * *

"_I don't know how it happened. We'd gotten really drunk. I know that's not an excuse. It's never an excuse. But Rachel was sad and so was I and she kind of convinced me not to drop out and told me to hang in there and not give up on our relationship. And I'd persuaded her to give New York another shot._

_It shouldn't have happened, I know. At the back of my mind I knew it was wrong. But it did. And I know no amount of explanation, or excuses can change that. And as soon as I realized what I'd done, I left New York and came back to Kentucky and never talked or saw Rachel again. I think…I think I hurt her , too. I was mean to her. _

_I guess it doesn't matter now."_

* * *

Suzie waits as everyone leaves, then goes over to Rachel and tugs at the sleeves of her blouse. Rachel looks down.

"You're pretty," Suzie says. "I mean you're _really_ beautiful."

_Here we go,_ Santana says.

"Thank you," Rachel says, smiling.

"Would you like to go out with my mom?" Suzie suddenly asks.

Santana blushes. She does not know why, but in the many permutations in which this has happened, this kind of exchange still manages to make her feel awkward.

Rachel laughs, obviously charmed by Suzie, but she blushes as furiously as Santana does, too, as she stands awkwardly looking down at the child.

"Suzie," Santana manages to say, a scolding tone in her voice as shakes her head. She looks up at Rachel apologetically. "I'm sorry. She kind of gets really, weirdly invested in my non-existent love life."

Rachel laughs. It really _is_ a beautiful laugh, Santana thinks. She would not mind being the cause of that laugh more often.

"Well, sweetie, that would really depend on your mom," Rachel finally says, leaning over and touches the child's nose with her finger. "I think you should let her decide whether she wants to go out with someone or not."

"But if I let her do that, she'll never date anyone! And she'll grow old and die alone, just like Uncle Carlos says!" Suzie says, genuine worry on her face. "And that's not right. No one should be alone. Especially on Christmas! And she's been alone so long…."

Santana thinks she will throttle Carlos later. She squirms, tries to make Suzie stop, but Suzie is oblivious.

"Mommy says I have to look out for mom, because she's so bad at looking after herself," Suzie says. "I can't remember mommy so much anymore, but mommy says she's good at taking care of other people. She took care of mommy. She takes really good care of me. I bet she can take good care of you, too."

Rachel's face maintains its red tinge as she continues to smile at the child. The child really is adorable. "I'm sure she can," she finally says. "But we don't even know if she would like to go out with me."

Suzie looks disappointed. "Okay. But you're missing out on a lot if you don't go out with mom. She's hot, you know!"

Rachel chuckles as the child skips off to the kids standing by the corner.

"She's adorable," Rachel finally says, looking at the child, who has, by now, established court amidst a group of kids fussing over her.

"Yeah," Santana says. "She is."

"Are you coming to the party at Mr. Schuester's later?" Rachel finally asks.

"Yeah, I think I will," Santana says.

* * *

_"And for the longest time I couldn't tell you. And I really, really wanted to._

_But life happened, you happened, Suzie happened, and all the other fucked up things and beautiful things in life that go with it._

_But I wish I could have been honest enough with you to have told you. I was a coward baby. I didn't trust you enough, didn't trust myself enough. _

_I wasn't strong enough, you see. Strong enough to lose you. If I'd been honest with you. I don't think I would have known how to live without you. You were my life, you were my _world_. You were my _everything_. All I wanted to do was make you happy. I wanted to be the cause of that happiness. I knew that would have hurt you, knowing the truth. But lying to you…lying to you…I probably hurt you more by keeping the truth from you, didn't I? _

_I'm sorry baby. _

_I'm really sorry. _

_Can you forgive me? _

_Can you forgive me?"_

* * *

The musical goes on as planned early that evening. Thanks to Rachel being the overall organizer, it goes without a hitch. Santana finds herself being part of the chorus. If Rachel is surprised that Santana knows all the lyrics, she does not show it. Santana of course has heard the musical so many times now that she has committed it to memory.

After the production is done, and everyone has gone home, Rachel finds herself without a ride to the party at Mr. Schuester's. Santana offers Rachel a ride. She drops off Suzie at their house, first. Rachel is supposed to wait in the car, but Santana's mother and brother see a glimpse of her in the car and excitedly invite her into the house for a cup of coffee and a chat.

Santana squirms as her family interrogates Rachel. _What do you do? Where do you live? How long have you been friends with our Santana? Are you married? Do you want to be? Do you want to stay over for dinner? Do you want to stay forever? _Santana is embarrassed about her family. But Rachel only laughs, looks at Santana reassuringly and answers the questions gamely. After what seems like ages, she manages to leave the house with Rachel.

On their way to Mr. Schuester's house, the car breaks down.

_Shit_, Santana says. Of course the car breaks down. It breaks down in all the other permutations of the same day. Why should it not break down now?

She is irritated, embarrassed, but Rachel only shrugs, takes it in stride and says, "That's okay. It's only a few blocks away. We can walk from here."

So Santana calls the garage to come pick up the car and they walk the rest of the way.

They walk in silence through the deserted streets of Lima, Ohio, the only sound that of their boots crunching against the snow. The cold prevents them from talking. She wants to say something, anything, just to break the silence, but she feels awkward, embarrassed. Santana is glad for the excuse as she pulls her coat closer to herself.

Rachel begins to hum a tuneless song.

"I never thanked you," Rachel finally says.

"For what?"

"For convincing me to stay in New York."

She rolls her eyes. "You would have stayed anyway. You're Rachel Berry. Since when did anything stop you from getting anything you want?"

Rachel is quiet. They continue to walk and Santana thinks she will not say anything the rest of the way, but Rachel suddenly says, "Since realizing I couldn't hurt people just so I could get what I wanted…"

Santana does not know what to say to that. Decides to let it go. Santana jokes, instead."I'd thank you for stopping me from dropping out of law school, but I'd have carried on anyway."

Rachel laughs in spite of herself. "Yes, I had a feeling you would. You're much more awesome than you think you are. I pity the person who gets in your way."

"Thank you anyway," Santana says.

"You're welcome."

* * *

_"Baby, there's another thing, too…I think…I think I like Rachel. I know. It's some weird, fucked up shit, but I do. I don't know if she'll still talk to me after everything that's happened…but I've got to try, right?_

_Baby, for the longest time, you were all I had ever known. You were all I had ever loved. I thought you were going to be all the love that ever was, all the love that ever will be for me. I'm not perfect, baby. I'd never been perfect. But it took this strange time loop I find myself in now, to realize that, you loved me anyway, despite my imperfections. You know I have always loved you. Maybe I always will."_

* * *

They continue to walk in the general direction of Mr. Schuester's house. The house seems so far away.

"You could have told me you know," Rachel says, after a silence.

Santana does not speak. Is afraid to speak.

"She was my friend, too, you know," Rachel continues, quietly.

Santana is silent. Finally, she says, "I know."

"I mean…whatever happened between us…that shouldn't have gotten in the way of my friendship with Brittany, too," Rachel says.

"I'm sorry."

"I would have wanted to be there."

"I'm sorry," Santana says. She hates that it is the only thing she can say now. Is embarrassed at how empty it is.

"You kind of, never told me anything," Rachel says. "Not the marriage, not Suzie, not anything. We could have moved on from that. I could've gone past that. For Brittany."

"I said I was sorry, Rachel," Santana says, exasperated. She stops. "God, what do you want from me?"

Rachel looks at her with expressionless eyes. She shakes her head. "Nothing," she says. "Nothing. I'd…I'd never wanted anything from you."

* * *

They find themselves stopping, looking at each other, standing there, in the middle of the street, not knowing what else to say. Something, a snowflake, lands on Rachel's nose. Then another lands on her hair, and in a few seconds, flakes of powdery snow begin to fall softly from the sky. Santana looks up, raising her hands to the snow.

It starts to snow, and Rachel moves to brush away snow from Santana's hair.

"You know, I thought I could take anything. Rejection from auditions. Not getting the callback I'd been waiting for. Being told I was not tall enough, or not pretty enough or not talented enough. Whatever. But you, Santana, you say something and it just…hurts…" Rachel says. "You were such an asshole."

"I know," Santana says, softly, suddenly feeling ashamed of herself. She cannot seem to look Rachel in the eyes. She looks down on the ground instead. "I'm sorry."

"Sometimes you don't realize how much you can hurt someone, Santana," Rachel continues.

"I know," Santana says softly, scuffing her boots against the snow.

They are quiet again. Santana attempts to speak. "Look. I admit I was mean to you. I'd treated you badly. Maybe…maybe I even used you, I don't know. I know no amount of apologizing can change that. Maybe, maybe I should have tried to fix this then. Maybe I should have come clean to Brittany. Maybe we should have talked. And I hurt you, I know. And I wish it never happened. I wish I could take it back. Take it all back. Back to how it was, between you and me. There's no day that I don't think that we could. And I know I can't…fix this…I can't..." Santana is overwhelmed. She stops, gulps, feels her heart pounding, tries to continue.

"But, can we start over?" Santana says. "I mean, as friends, or something? I don't know. I mean I've fucked everything up, but I don't…I don't want to wake up and realize it's too late – that I didn't fix this one…just..You kind of…matter to me…I mean..you're friendship…in a fucked up weird sort of way…I'm saying it wrong, but…"

Rachel does not speak. Santana is too afraid to speak.

"We need to go," Rachel finally says. "Everyone's waiting."

* * *

_"When you were gone, I didn't know how to move on. I was lost._

_And I tried to find a way to keep your memory alive…I thought I could do that if I shut people off, if I kept away. But by doing that, I hurt the people I loved, the ones who were still alive. I think maybe this was the wrong thing to do. _

_I realize now I didn't have to try so hard. _

_When I lost you, I lost the courage to try again. I thought maybe if I kept away, if I shut people off, then I wouldn't be hurt, I could protect myself. But keeping away, shutting people off hurt me more than it did them. _

_I guess…I guess…I realize I keep your memory alive by moving on, isn't it?_

_By going out there again and _living_._

_And now…and now…I think…I think I can move on now baby. _

_I never knew it was possible, but you taught me I could. _

_And I'd like to thank you for that, baby."_

* * *

The party pretty much is the same as the other December 17s that Santana attended. The difference is only that she is quiet, subdued, as she mingles with long-lost friends. She has missed this. Has missed the easy camaraderie of being with old friends. She feels a lightness somehow, seeing old friends, catching up with them, looking at pictures of babies, and houses and listening to excited chatter about careers and marriages and mortgages and plans for the future.

When she sees Rachel move to the makeshift stage to the front of the living room, Santana quietly moves to the back of the room, to the back door, and makes her way to the backyard, to one of the porch swings. She has swiped a couple of cans of beers with her and starts opening one, as she lights a cigarette. She pushes the porch swing lightly. It still snows. She looks up at the sky, watches the snow fall, then closes her eyes. Lets the cold and the flakes and the breeze blow on her, through her. It feels good, this biting cold.

For the longest time, she sits on the swing, hears the creaking and squeaking of metal against metal. She sips her beer, enjoys bitter liquid on her throat, puffs on her cigarette. It is eerily quiet outside. She can hear the party sounds inside, footsteps, a random crash, the tinkling of glass and porcelain, spoons and forks, music, muffled voices, laughter.

She feels empty. She feels nothing. But at the same time, there is a strange, perfect peace that seems to have settled on her. Like a burden has been lifted. She wishes she could relive a day like this every day. Almost feels sad that she has to let this day go, in favor of a day exactly like this, tomorrow, but still different.

She does not know how long she sits there, but after a while, she feels something on her shoulders. She looks up with a start, finds that it is a coat.

She looks at the hands that have put it there, and following the hands, realizes it's Rachel. Rachel does not speak. She moves to the other swing.

"What are you doing here?" Santana says.

Rachel shrugs. "Mr. Schuester is insisting on rapping all the songs in the songbook, starting with Vanilla Ice. I don't think I can handle that."

Santana chuckles. "Yeah. It can get a bit too much in there. Between Finn singing, Mr. Schuester rapping, Mercedes wailing on the high notes, Mike's dancing, it can get a bit too much. I just had to get out of there. "

"Yeah."

Santana finishes the cigarettes and flicks it away. She pulls out another one and lights it. She normally does not smoke now. She smokes only when she is nervous.

They are silent again.

"Those are not good for you, you know," Rachel finally says.

"I know."

"You should stop."

"Yeah, I know."

"You might get sick."

"Ugh. Yeah, I know Rachel. What are you, my _wife_?"

Rachel looks at her, with her clear dark eyes. She is silent, her face expressionless. Rachel sighs and starts swinging on the swing.

"I don't, you know," Rachel simply says, after a silence.

Santana looks at her. "What?"

Rachel does not answer. Instead she just pushes the swing again, is silent for a few minutes.

"I don't wish I could take it all back," Rachel says, now, quietly. "I don't wish it never happened."

Santana looks at her, not knowing what to say.

"I don't think it can go back to the way it was," Rachel continues, not looking at her. "I don't think we can _ever_ go back to the way we were…but maybe we can be something else entirely now…"

Rachel gets off the porch swings, looks at her, smiles and goes back inside.

* * *

_**Author's note: Thanks for reading. Your kind reviews are most welcome. Again, thanks to my beta, DragonsWillFly for going over this chapter with me.**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's note: And we have come to the end of this journey. I'd like to thank everyone again for trusting me enough to go on this journey with me. Hope you enjoy.**_

* * *

Santana Lopez is slowly waking up from a dreamless sleep, humming "All I Want for Christmas is You". She has heard it so many times, it's like her default song for morning. She does not even hate it, it's like some mindless background music that she has now learned to accept and ignore. Like the annoying dj who regularly announces that it is December 17 and that it is 40 degrees outside. She has learned to accept him, too, no longer finds the need to hunt him down and beat him up. In fact, she finds his voice strangely comforting. In this reality that she now exists in, that radio is the one constant that keeps Santana's world from tilting.

Eyes closed, she waits for the radio to play the first strains of Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" and is mildly curious that the song does not come.

In fact, it does not play at all. What she hears instead is silence, broken occasionally by a dog barking, another dog answering, a car engine slowly making its way down the snow-laden street. She cannot hear the noise of her family down the hallway or downstairs, crashing into things, shouting and cursing alternately in Spanish and English, television at full volume, blasting some telenovela show or some Latin American music channel, as pots, pans, plates, cups, spoons, forks crash and clink and bang against each other. Most interestingly, the familiar patter of little feet, followed by the delighted squeal of "Mom! You're up!" that is followed by someone doing a running jump onto her lap, does not come.

It is a strange feeling. And Santana feels a strange fear crawl up her chest.

What is even stranger is how there is soft sunlight shining on her face. She usually wakes up to a dark, gloomy, cloudy day every day.

More than that, she notices a slight pressure on her left shoulder, hears a female voice, a _familiar_ voice, mumble something unintelligible beside her, feels a hand slowly wonder to her arms, feel an arm snake through to her waist, press closer, warm breath on her neck.

She slowly opens her eyes, blinks away the bleariness, tries to focus on the room. It is bright, pink, frilly. There are pink curtains on the windows, from where the sun shines through, on her face. She finds herself covered with a warm, pink comforter, finds her head resting on pink pillows, finds herself lying on a pink, four-poster bed. There is no Bob Marley poster on the wall. No luggage and toys strewn haphazardly on the floor. Santana begins to panic. _Oh, god, what is this shit?_ Santana asks herself. This is definitely _not_ her room.

She wonders where she is. She does not know where she is. Is afraid she has gone crazy. Thinks Quinn is right, alcohol and drugs were not a good combination. She turns her head and notices dark, wavy hair and a head half-covered by the blanket._ That is _definitely _not Suzie_, she says to herself as she carefully pulls her shoulder away from the head, and tries to get up from the bed without waking the person. The head stirs, moans, the blanket pulls away and Santana's eyes widen in shock as she recognizes who the person sleeping next to her is.

She is so surprised she falls off the bed with a thud, waking the person up.

She gets up off the floor at the same time the person wakes up, opening her eyes and raising her head from her pillow.

"Rachel?"

"Hey," Rachel says, softly, a slow, tender smile spreading on her face. The look on her face is something Santana has only seen once before, many, many years ago. "Good morning."

"What…how…where _am_ I?" Santana manages to sputter through the shock and panic in her voice.

"What?" Rachel asks, still sleepy as she turns over on her back, starts to stretch and yawn and the blanket falls away to reveal her in a skin tight tank top. Santana tries not to stare but she cannot. "You're in my room. You spent the night here."

"What am I doing here?" Santana asks again. When Rachel does not answer, Santana practically shouts, "Why am I here?"

Rachel notices the panic and nervousness in her voice then and turns and looks at her. It is only then that Santana notices she is only wearing a long-sleeved pajama top and underwear. Santana feels naked, wants to look for her clothes, but wants to know why she is here, and not in her room, in Lima Heights.

The question confuses Rachel though and she does not know how to answer her, so Santana, fighting the panic, asks another question, "What day is it?"

"What?"

"What day is it?" Santana demands.

Rachel blinks, stops, thinks, glances at her alarm clock, which usually states the date, and says, "Sunday, December 18. Why? What's going on?"

"December 18?" Santana repeats, dumbly, the information still not registering in her brain. She has been so used to December 17 that to be able to move on to an entirely different day feels alien to her. Could it be? Is it possible she has escaped the curse of December 17? She dares not hope.

She looks out the window. It looks different. The sun is shining on the snowy landscape. People are out and about, on their way to church. It _looks_ like another day.

"How did I get here?" Santana asks.

"What is this, twenty questions?"

Santana looks at her, frowns, has an "answer-the-question–or-else" look on her face.

"I don't know, how did you get here?" Rachel asks, sarcastically. When Santana narrows her eyes at her, Rachel rolls her eyes and says, "You came home. With me."

"What? I came home with you?"

"Yes. You didn't want to drive home. Puck had some weed. You guys were sneaking out at the back getting high and drinking. I told you not to do it, but you insisted. And anyway, you couldn't go home, not like that. You couldn't go home to your daughter like that. Plus you were doing that thing again where you cry and stuff when you've had too much to drink. Anyway, I was a bit tipsy, too. So we came here instead. Quinn drove us home," Rachel says.

"We didn't…" Santana's hand goes to her chest. "We didn't…I mean…were we just …did we?"

Rachel tries hard not to smile. "Don't worry, I didn't take advantage of you."

She throws the blanket aside and moves to get up. Rachel is only wearing underwear. And her tank top. Santana tries to avert her gaze, but finds herself staring at her.

"Rachel," Santana says, feeling frustrated. She wants to get angry, but Rachel does not know about this endless December 17s that Santana has been living in for the what seems like forever and now seems to have escaped from.

"I swear, nothing happened," Rachel says. After a beat, she says, "Okay, maybe some light to moderate petting, but that's it."

"What?"

"Okay, okay, maybe some brief heavy petting, but second base, that's it," Rachel jokes. When Santana continues to stare at her, exasperated, Rachel blushes. "I'm kidding. We cuddled for the appropriate amount of time and slept after."

Santana is quiet, pensive, as she realizes that she may have, in fact, escaped the curse of waking up to the same day over and over again. She feels something, akin to hope and excitement, and maybe joy, creep through her being. She remembers what Brittany had asked her those many years ago, _What would you do if you had all the time in the world? _She knows the answer now.

She is not going to waste it.

Santana looks at Rachel, somehow feeling a wave of tenderness wash over her for the other woman. She smiles in spite of herself. "What are you wearing?"

Rachel looks down. "What?" she asks.

"That," Santana asks, gesturing to her. "Why are you wearing that?" When Rachel is silent and only shrugs, Santana says, "Will you put some clothes on? I can't think with you standing there half-naked, looking all hot like that."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "It's a little too early to be hitting on me, isn't it?"

Santana smirks. "Is it working?"

Rachel raises an eyebrow, tries hard not to smile. "Try harder."

Before Santana can think of an appropriate retort, Santana's phone suddenly rings. Santana grabs her bag lying on the floor, rummages through it and pulls out her phone.

Rachel moves to put on some pajama bottoms, heads to her bathroom, shuts the door. Water starts running in the sink.

"Hi, mom!" The voice on the other end of the line cheerfully greets her when she cautiously says "Hello?" to the phone. "Morning! Where are you? I woke up today and you weren't home. Did you come home last night?"

"I'm at a…" The muffled flush of the toilet comes through the door, as Rachel opens the door. "A friend's house. I'm sorry I didn't call. I'll be home, soon. You okay there?"

"It's okay, was just making sure you're okay," Suzie says. "I mean Abuela and Uncle Carlos and cousin Carlitos are here anyway, and I know they'd take care of me. Abuela says you're a big girl, you can probably kick someone's ass if they try to do anything to you."

Santana smiles into the phone. "Language, honey."

"Sorry, mom," Suzie says, giggling.

"Although, at this point, why do I even bother anymore?" Santana says into the phone, then looks up at Rachel. Rachel smiles back.

"Uncle Carlos says you probably stayed out because you hooked up with someone and you probably did it last night. He says it's been a while," Suzie says.

Santana looks at Rachel, who is standing there, trying to fix the bed, and feels her face burn.

"What does that mean, mom? Hook up with someone?"

"Um…it's…a word you don't have to know the meaning of, til you're at least 30," Santana says into the phone. She so hates Carlos right now.

She can see Rachel smiling from the corner of her eye.

"_Mooom_," Suzie whines. "You _always_ say that. And when you say that, it usually means it's something naughty or dirty. Carlitos says it's like doing it," Suzie continues. "But I don't know what that means either! What do you _do_? And what is _it_?"

Santana is positively horrified. She had not expected this question until at least a few more years. She tries to search for words now.

"It's just…" Santana sighs, at a loss for words. "Something grown-ups do when they're together…"

"Like sex?" Suzie asks.

"Suzie! Where did you hear that word?" Santana says, panic in her voice.

"At school," Suzie says matter-of-factly. "This boy, Johnny, told us about sex. He says it's when two grown-ups have a date and they kiss and do other _stuff_ and they do _it_. And I asked him what they do and he said just _stuff_. What stuff, mom?"

Santana tries to come up with a quick answer, but the voice on the other line has moved on to the next topic. "And mom, where do babies come from? I mean, my friend says storks bring them, but that's just stupid, isn't it? How do babies get here, mom?"

Santana knits her brows, does not know how to answer that, tries to control her voice, then finally says, "We'll talk about it when I get home, okay?"

"Okay, but in the meantime, can I ask Uncle Carlos instead?"

"No!" She practically shouts into the phone. "I mean, no. I'll explain when I get back, okay?"

"Alright. I'm glad you're okay," Suzie says. "I'm sorry if I woke you up if you were doing _it_ or something."

Santana's face continues to burn.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're hanging out with your friends," Suzie says. "Friends are important. Mommy used to say so."

Santana says, "Yes, she did."

"Okay, and mom…"

"Yeah?"

"You sound...okay," Suzie says. "Are you happy?"

"What?" Santana sometimes could swear she is the mother of the oldest seven-year-old in the world.

"Are you happy?" Suzie repeats the question.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering if my wish came true," Suzie says, nonchalantly.

Santana smiles. "What did you wish for?"

"I wished you'd be happy, mom," Suzie says. "You always looked so unhappy, I thought maybe you could use a wish."

"Oh, honey. That's okay." Santana feels a warmth spread through her heart for her daughter. Yes, she definitely has the oldest seven-year-old child in the world. "I am happy. I mean, for a while, I wasn't, maybe. And it took a while for that to go away. But I'm okay now, because I have you and I love you and I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

"Okay, mom. I've got to go now. We're playing Guitar Rock! Love you, mom!"

"Okay, honey. Love you, too!"

When she turns the phone off, she sees Rachel looking at her, smiling.

"What?" she asks.

Rachel shrugs. "Nothing. Your daughter's really adorable."

"Oh, yeah? She was adorable when she was little…" Santana says. "Then she learned how to speak."

Rachel chuckles.

"Tell me that again when she asks you where babies come from," Santana continues.

"I can't wait."

"On second thought," Santana says, "You'd probably do a better job than my brother. You'd probably storyboard it, have a PowerPoint presentation with diagrams and stuff."

Rachel laughs. Santana smiles. An awkward silence ensues.

"Look," Santana begins, unsure how to proceed. "Are we…okay? I mean I don't want to presume we're…"

Rachel just smiles. "We're okay," she says.

"Okay."

There is silence.

"I mean, this is hard…and I'm trying…and…"

Rachel comes toward her, nods, listening intently. She crosses her arms in front her.

Santana feels very self-conscious about how near Rachel is now.

"And I'm sorry about this morning."

Rachel nods.

There is another silence.

Santana speaks again. "We have to stop doing this."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, last night was…okay. It's just…I don't remember most of it. I think I've had too much fun. I'm sorry."

Rachel cocks her head. "Okay? Just okay?" She smiles.

Santana blushes.

"But just, if we're going to do this, we need to do this sober," Santana says firmly.

Rachel is quiet. "Are you asking me out?"

"Are you saying yes?"

"Are you paying?"

"Are you saying you like me?"

"Will we talk this time?"

Santana hesitates. "I'm sorry. I don't even know what this…" She stops, vaguely gestures to both of them and continues, "Means."

Rachel looks at Santana, smiles, leans over and gently kisses her.

Santana's right hand tentatively snakes to the small of Rachel's back, pulls her closer. Rachel comes towards her, willingly, arms coming up to her neck. Rachel smiles into their kiss. "You and your feelings, Santana," Rachel murmurs.

Santana smiles back. "Shut up."

Santana thinks it is going to be a lovely day.

"Okay."

They tumble back down on the bed.

* * *

_**Author's note: And there you have it. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Kind reviews are welcome and will be much appreciated.**_

_**Acknowledgements: This story would not have been possible without the help of my awesome beta, DragonsWillFly and her awesome robot minions. Thanks for the laughter, the encouragement, the ideas and for going over this story with me despite the space time continuum. Wouldn't have done it without you. **_

_**Some notes – The poem Santana thinks of when she is holding her newborn baby in her arms in Chapter 5 is from an e.e. cummings poem. The line is "Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands". You may remember it as part of a song for the soundtrack to an old TV show entitled "Beauty and the Beast" starring Ron Perlman.**_

_**Grateful acknowledgement is given to the late, great Ray Bradbury and his awesome novel, "Dandelion Wine" for Chapter 8's Brittany's "Death and Lobsters" scene. **_

_**Again, many thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing my story. The wonderful, encouraging response has been very heartwarming. Like this story? Spread the word! Want a sequel? Or just another Glee fan fic? Let me know in the reviews page. **_


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